! 


ilYJU 


LIBRARY 

UNI/_r«\.!fY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


STORIES  OF 
LOVE  AND  LIFE 


OF  FACT  AND  FANCY  WOVEN 


BY 

WILLIAM  J.   ROBINSON,  M.D. 

Author  of  Never  Told    Tales,  Sexual  Problems 
of  Today,  Practical  Eugenics,  etc. 


No  book  has  a  right  to  exist  that  has  not  for 
its  purpose  the  betterment  of  mankind,  by 
affording  either  useful  instruction  or  health 
ful  recreation.  — W.  J.  R. 


THE  CRITIC  AND  GUIDE  COMPANY 

12  MT.   MORRIS  PARK  WEST 

NEW  YORK 

1913 


COPYRIGHT,  1815 
BY  WILLIAM  J.  ROBINSON,  M.D. 


PREFACE  AND  EXPLANATION 

Certain  facts  had  come  to  my  knowl 
edge,  which  seemed  to  me  to  possess  a  dis 
tinct  social  value  and  significance.  In 
leisure  moments,  while  crossing  the  At 
lantic,  in  railway  cars,  while  sailing  the 
Swiss  lakes  or  the  Scandinavian  fjords, 
on  the  verandas  of  hotels,  I  wove  the  gos 
samer  thread  of  fancy  thru  the  woof  of 
fact,  and  the  result  are  these  humble  but 
I  hope  useful  stories. 

I  owe  this  explanation  not  to  the  public, 
but  to  my  esteemed  professional  col 
leagues — whose  good-will  I  would  not 
forfeit  for  any  literary  laurels — who  might 
think  that  it  is  not  quite  the  proper  thing 
for  a  physician  of  some  eminence  to  spend 
—perhaps  they  would  say,  waste — his 
time  in  writing  stories.  They  could  for 
give  "Never  Told  Tales,"  because  the 


PREFACE 

moral  and  utilitarian  purpose  behind 
those  narratives  was  quite  clear.  The 
motive  or  moral  of  these  stories  is  not 
quite  so  apparent,  tho  it  is  there. 

Perhaps  when  they  learn  that  not  one 
hour  have  I  purloined  from  the  time 
which  belongs  to  my  practice  and  serious 
medical  work,  but  that  in  weaving  these 
stories,  I  have  utilized  those  moments 
which  others  spend  in  inane  small  talk,  in 
smoking,  drinking  and  card-playing,  I 
say  when  they  learn  this,  perhaps  their 
judgment  will  be  tempered  with  mercy. 
For  I  repeat:  No  literary  laurels  would  I 
exchange  for  the  good-will  and  esteem  of 
my  esteemed  professional  colleagues. 

WILLIAM  J.  ROBINSON,  M.  D. 

Atlantic  Ocean,  N.  Lat.  40°,  19",  W.  Long.  54°,  42". 
September  1,  1912. 


CONTENTS 

MARGARET:  A  STORY  OF  A  RADICAL  COUPLE  .  1 

THEY  WAITED  TOO  LONG 65 

WAS   SELMA   JUSTIFIED? 81 

LOVE:  A  LITTLE  STORY  FOR  FREE  LOVERS     .  119 

THE  RISE  OF  RICHARD  MARTINDALE  .            .  145 


THE  STORY  OF 
MARGARET 


Ota 
Hen 


WHOM  YEARS  OF  PRISON  AND  EXILE 
HAVE  NEITHER  BROKEN  NOR  BENT 


MARGARET 

THE  STORY  OF  A  RADICAL  COUPLE 


who  had  not  seen  Dr. 
George  Nelson  for  several  years 
would  not  have  recognized  him. 
He  had  certainly  undergone  a  remarkable 
metamorphosis,  both  physical  and  mental. 
Those  who  knew  him  when  he  studied 
medicine  knew  a  pale,  slim,  thin-necked, 
sunken-cheeked  youth,  who,  while  not 
classically  beautiful  or  even  moderately 
pretty,  yet  produced  an  agreeable  expres 
sion  by  his  shock  of  black  hair,  bright 
lively  eyes  and  animated  facial  expression. 
And  he  was  full  of  enthusiasm  about 
everything  —  about  himself,  his  future,  the 
future  of  mankind. 

He  had  many  lofty  ideals,  which  he  was 
ready  to  defend  at  all  times  against  all 
comers.  He  had  a  ready  flow  of  lan- 

3 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

guage  and  he  was  not  only  ready,  but 
eager  to  participate  in  discussions  and  de 
bates,  private  or  public.  In  spite  of  his 
studies  he  was  a  regular  visitor  at  most 
lectures — ethical  culture,  radical,  single- 
tax,  socialistic,  and  even  anarchistic,  and 
his  delight  was  to  pierce  the  bubbles  of 
ignorance  with  the  incisive  shafts  of  his 
logic.  Presumption  could  rarely  hold  out 
against  the  arrows  of  his  biting  satire. 
When  George  Nelson  was  announced  to 
take  part  in  a  debate  or  discussion,  the  hall 
was  always  full.  He  was  a-quiver  with 
vitality  and  apt  to  be  slightly  arrogant, 
particularly  after  a  successful  verbal  en 
counter.  And  tho  somewhat  puffed  up 
with  his  own  importance,  he  had  few  en 
emies.  The  number  of  his  friends  was 
much  larger.  They  all  liked  the  jolly, 
witty,  lively,  hopeful  and  idealistic 
George. 

Was  he  poor?     As  poor  as  a  church- 
mouse.     He  often  did  not  know  where 


MARGARET 

his  next  meal  was  to  come  from,  and  many 
days  his  stomach  had  to  be  satisfied  with 
one  meal,  and  some  days  he  went  prac 
tically  without  any  food  at  all.  His  aver 
age  expenses  were  three  or  four  dollars  a 
week  and  this  money  he  earned  by  giving 
private  lessons  and  by  translations  from 
foreign  languages.  And  while  in  this 
luxurious  financial  condition,  he  had  the 
supreme  audacity  to  get  married.  The 
temerity  of  youth  knows  no  limits. 

His  young  wife,  who  was  willing  to  take 
the  chances  of  sharing  her  life  with 
George  Nelson  was  Margaret,  with  whom 
he  had  been  keeping  company  for  about 
six  months.  Many  were  the  people  who 
were  envying  him  his  young  girl  wife. 
And  well  they  might,  for  in  their  circle 
there  were  not  many  Margarets.  Mar 
garet  was  like  a  young  Greek  goddess 
and,  hackneyed  as  the  expression  is,  there 
is  none  that  fits  her  better.  A  wealth  of 
black  hair,  black,  limpid  eyes,  rosy  cheeks, 
5 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

a  set  of  white  pearly  teeth,  that  never 
needed  the  dentist's  services,  a  white 
slender  neck,  a  healthy  prominent  bosom, 
which  heaved  deliciously  under  the  slight 
est  excitement,  broad  hips  that  indicated 
a  well-developed  pelvis, — such  was  Mar 
garet,  a  picture  of  healthy,  marvelously 
developed  girlhood.  What  made  Mar 
garet  more  seductive  and  more  charming 
was  her  utter  unconsciousness  of  her  se 
ductive  charm.  She  had  none  of  the  shal- 
lowness  of  the  flirt  in  her.  And  she  con 
temptuously  resented  and  effectually 
nipped  any  attempts  at  flirting.  Her 
lovely  head  was  full  of  romantic  notions. 
She  dreamed  of  true  love,  and  passionate, 
self-sacrificing,  self-forgetting  love,  such 
love  as  was  described  in  her  favorite  au 
thors'  novels.  Marriage  without  love — 
she  could  think  of  no  greater  profanation. 
But  marriage  with  love — no  privations 
would  be  any  sacrifice  to  her.  And  that's 
why  she  refused  unhesitatingly  one  after 
6 


MARGARET 

another  all  the  numerous  proposals  that 
she  had  received.  Many  came  from  rich 
suitors,  business  men  and  professional 
men,  but  she  rejected  them  all;  she  could 
not  think  of  a  business  man  for  her  hus 
band — business  men  were  so  prosaic ;  some 
of  the  professional  men  she  favored,  but  it 
was  not  real  love,  the  kind  of  love  she 
imagined.  She  would  marry  only  the 
man  with  whom  she  would  fall  deeply  in 
love,  preferably  at  first  sight;  and  if  she 
could  have  her  choice  she  would  prefer  a 
poor  student,  a  poor  author  or  a  poor  art 
ist.  And  when  she  fell  in  love  with 
George,  she  did  not  care  for  his  abject 
poverty,  and  was  willing  to  marry  him  on 
the  spot.  In  fact  it  was  George  who  ad 
vised  delay,  until  he  was  a  graduated  phy 
sician.  Tho  with  every  fiber  of  his  body 
and  soul  he  was  drawn  towards  Margaret, 
he  did  not  consider  it  right  to  have  her 
share  his  hall-bedroom.  But  he  was  in 
his  last  college  year,  Margaret  insisted 
7 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

that  she  did  not  care  how  poor  he  was — • 
she  had  a  position  as  private  secretary, 
and  she  would  keep  her  position  until  he 
was  graduated;  on  the  contrary  the  idea 
appealed  to  her  to  live  in  one  small  bed 
room  and  to  go  out  for  their  meals — and 
so  they  were  married. 

I  regret  to  say,  tho  it  may  give  a  se 
vere  shock  to  some  of  my  readers,  that 
there  was  no  religious  ceremony  at  their 
wedding.  They  were  free  thinkers  and 
they  had  peculiar  ideas ;  they  thought  that 
where  there  was  true  love,  the  bond  of  un 
ion  could  not  be  made  any  stronger  by  the 
mumbled  formula  of  priest  or  rabbi;  and 
where  there  was  no  love,  the  union  was  un 
holy,  priest  or  no  priest.  They  went, 
however,  down  to  City  Hall  where  they 
were  married  by  an  alderman.  Margaret 
objected  to  that  too;  she  said  that  if  she 
ceased  to  love  him  or  he  to  love  her,  the 
piece  of  paper  called  the  marriage  cer 
tificate,  would  not  hold  either  of  them. 
8 


MARGARET 

But  here  George  put  his  foot  down. 
"You  know,"  he  said,  "that  I  am  liberal 
enough.  But  I  am  very  sure  of  one  thing. 
The  man  who  under  our  present  social 
conditions  agrees  to  live  with  a  woman  as 
his  wife  without  giving  her  the  protection 
conferred  by  a  religious  or  legal  ceremony, 
is  acting  unfairly  towards  the  woman,  in 
fact,  is  a  despicable  rascal."  He  was  a 
regular  attendant  at  socialistic  and  anarch 
istic  meetings  and  he  was  used  to  strong 
words.  "A  woman  who  lives  with  a  man 
without  being  married  to  him,  is  looked 
upon  with  such  deep  contempt  by  nine 
hundred  and  ninety-nine  of  every  one 
thousand  members  of  her  own  sex,  and 
also  by  most  men  including  the  tradespeo 
ple,  and  her  husband's  friends  even,  that  it 
is  positively  cruel  to  subject  her  to  that  al 
together  unnecessary  humiliation  and  to 
gratuitous  insults.  And  it  is  positively 
criminal  to  bring  children  into  the  world 
with  the  handicap  of  bastardy  on  them. 
9 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

The  children  will  certainly  not  be  grateful 
for  it,  and  if  they  should  turn  out  to  be 
more  or  less  conservative — one  can  never 
foresee  what  one's  childrens'  opinions  are 
going  to  be — they  will  hate  and  despise 
you.  Then  comes  the  question  of  prop 
erty,  which  we  radicals  are  supposed  to 
care  nothing  about.  Well  we  don't  now, 
because  we  haven't  any.  But  suppose 
that  by  working  together  we  accumulated 
some.  In  case  of  my  death,  litigation 
might  start  and  neither  you  nor  our  chil 
dren  would  be  certain  of  retaining  a  penny 
of  the  money,  which  we  have  accumulated 
by  hard  work.  Why  run  any  such  risks  ? 
No,  dearie,  for  a  man  and  wife,  be  they  as 
radical  as  they  make  them,  to  live  out  of 
legal  wedlock  under  the  present  circum 
stances,  is  more  than  simply  foolish.  It 
is  criminal  folly,  at  least  on  the  husband's 
side." 

And  so  Margaret  was  persuaded  to  get 
legally  married. 

10 


MARGARET 

They  did  not  change  their  abode,  but 
continued  to  live  in  George's  hall-bedroom. 
Margaret  prepared  the  scanty  breakfast 
and  the  meager  luncheon  on  a  tiny  oil- 
stove,  and  for  dinner  they  went  out  to 
a  Hungarian  restaurant,  where  they  dined 
for  twenty  cents  a  piece,  and  on  holidays 
they  spent  half  a  dollar  for  the  two. 
George  continued  to  study  hard,  and  Mar 
garet  kept  her  position. 

George  was  graduated  among  the  first, 
and  became  a  full-fledged  physician.  It 
was  great  fun  to  run  about  hand  in  hand 
with  Margaret,  looking  for  an  office  and 
residence.  They  found  one  in  a  crowded 
part  of  the  city,  the  furniture  was  taken  on 
the  instalment  plan,  a  sign  was  put  out  in 
the  window,  and  they  started  to  wait  for 
patients.  Contrary  to  the  statements  in 
novels,  contrary  to  grim  reality  in  a  large 
number  of  cases,  it  did  not  take  long  be 
fore  the  first  patient  appeared,  it  did  not 
take  long  before  the  second  came,  in  less 
11 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

than  two  weeks  he  had  three  confinements 
and  before  the  end  of  six  months  George 
was  busy  day  and  night.  He  was  bright, 
cheerful,  confidence-inspiring  and  he  knew 
his  business.  Besides  he  had  a  good  deal 
of  common  sense, — something  of  the 
greatest  importance  in  the  practice  of 
medicine.  The  individual  fees  were  small, 
but  they  were  frequent  and  numerous  and 
before  George  knew  it,  Margaret,  who 
kept  the  accounts,  told  him  that  his 
monthly  income  was  three,  four  and  then 
five  hundred  dollars  a  month!  The  star 
vation  period  was  quickly  forgotten,  and 
of  everything  there  was  a  superabundance. 
George  soon  joined  several  Medical  Socie 
ties  and  Medical  Clubs,  and  the  few  even 
ings  he  had  free  from  practice  he  often 
spent  with  his  medical  friends.  Mar 
garet  felt  a  little  lonesome,  but  she  knew 
that  it  could  not  be  helped.  George  had 
to  attend  to  his  practice  and  had  to  show 
himself  once  in  a  while  among  his  profes- 
12 


MARGARET 

sional  brethren.  But  it  rankled  in  her 
breast  just  a  little  bit — she  did  not  let  it 
rankle  long. 

The  years  passed — speedily  for  George, 
creepingly  for  Margaret.  George  was 
getting  stouter  from  year  to  year,  and 
this  had  an  important  influence  on  his  life, 
on  his  thoughts  and  actions.  People  do 
not  understand  the  tremendous  influence 
which  rapidly  acquired  obesity  has  on 
human  character.  It  renders  a  man  not 
only  physically  lazy,  but  also  mentally 
sluggish,  and  frequently  has  a  decided 
dampening,  cooling  effect  on  the  marital 
affections.  George  was  becoming  de 
cidedly,  distressingly  lazy.  He  hardly 
ever  walked,  having  at  his  constant  de 
mand  a  carriage  and  an  automobile.  He 
gave  up  the  harder  part  of  the  practice- 
confinements — but  the  patients  kept  on 
crowding  his  office,  and  his  receipts 
amounted  to  one  thousand  dollars  a  month 
and  more.  Of  course  he  no  longer  at- 
18 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

tended  socialistic  meetings.  Not  that  he 
gave  up  his  radical  ideas,  but  he  had  no 
time.  And  then  it  wasn't  just  the  proper 
thing  for  a  prominent  prosperous  physi 
cian  to  mingle  with  common  working 
boys,  who  showed  no  respect  before  any 
body  and  who  might  contradict  him  in  im 
moderate  language  as  if  he  were  their 
equal.  However,  he  subscribed  to  radical 
literature  and  contributed  to  humanita 
rian  causes.  But  he  practically  gave  up 
reading;  the  only  recreation  he  had  now 
was  in  his  private  medical  circle,  where  he 
often  stayed  up  late  playing  cards.  He 
became  a  passionate  card  player.  People 
mentally  lazy  for  serious  work,  are  often 
passionate  and  clever  card  players.  And 
Margaret  stayed  home,  mostly  alone  and 
read  books.  .  .  .  And  once  in  a  while 
she  felt  very,  very  dull,  very,  very  lone 
some. 

Did  George  cease  to  love  Margaret  or 
did  he  love  her  any  less  than  formerly? 


MARGARET 

He  was  not  aware  of  any  change  in  him 
self.  If  he  had  been  asked  or  if  had 
asked  himself  the  question,  he  would  have 
answered  it  indignantly  and  emphatically 
in  the  negative.  And  he  probably  would 
have  been  right.  He  loved  her  passively 
• — or  shall  we  say  abstractly? — as  much  as 
ever.  Only  his  active  demonstrations  of 
love  were  diminishing  gradually  from  year 
to  year,  until  they  reached  the  vanishing 
point. 

Wherein  he  made  the  mistake  of  his 
life, — a  mistake  of  which  so  many  men  are 
guilty.  Many  men  make  the  blunder,  to 
a  realization  of  which  they  are  recalled 
sometimes  too  late,  of  forgetting  that 
purely  passive  or  abstract  love  is  not  suf 
ficiently  satisfying  to  a  sensitive  woman; 
and  in  this  regard,  fortunately  or  unfor 
tunately,  the  radical  woman  is  almost  as 
feminine  as  her  orthodox  sister.  Mar 
garet  certainly  was.  And  she  suffered; 
and  she  suffered  more  and  more.  And 
15 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

George  was  too  obtuse,  too  self-satisfied, 
to  notice  it.  And  Margaret  was  too 
proud  to  let  him  see  it. 

Had  George  been  told  that  Margaret 
was  not  very  happy,  he  would  have  opened 
his  eyes  in  surprise.  Why?  What  was 
the  matter?  She  had  no  menial  work  to 
do,  she  had  all  the  help  she  wanted,  she 
had  all  the  money  she  wanted,  and  could 
spend  on  clothes  or  on  anything  else  as 
much  as  she  wanted;  she  could  go  to  the 
theater — alone — as  often  as  she  wanted; 
in  short  she  could  spend  her  time  and  her 
money  to  suit  herself — what  else  can  a 
woman  desire?  Her  material  life  was 
such  an  improvement  over  what  it  was 
before,  and  during  the  first  year  or  two 
after  her  marriage,  that  she  would  have 
to  be  a  very  unreasonable  person  to  feel 
unhappy  or  even  dissatisfied.  That's 
what  George  would  have  thought,  if  he 
had  known  that  anything  was  the  matter 
with  Margaret.  But  he  did  not  think  at 
16 


MARGARET 

all,  for  he  did  not  know  anything  at  all. 
As  we  said  adiposis  makes  people  obtuse. 
Ask  any  competent  physician  about  that. 
George  was  getting  rich  and  was  becom 
ing  a  person  of  consequence  in  his  neigh 
borhood.  The  principal  part,  however,  of 
his  income  was  now  derived,  not  from  his 
medical  practice,  but  from  something 
else.  One  of  the  greatest  misfortunes 
that  can  befall  an  ambitious  professional 
man,  befell  him :  he  began  to  make  money 
in  real  estate.  A  patient  of  his  who  was 
in  the  business  suggested  to  him  a  "bar 
gain."  He  bought  a  tenement  house,  and 
in  less  than  two  months  sold  it  with  a 
clear  profit  of  three  thousand  dollars. 
And  this  was  the  beginning  of  his  down 
fall,  as  it  has  been  of  so  many  others. 
When  a  physician  begins  to  make  money 
in  real  estate,  he,  in  the  majority  of  in 
stances,  ceases  to  be  a  physician — physi 
cian  in  the  noble  sense  of  the  word.  His 
practice  becomes  irksome  or  even  repul- 
17 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

sive  to  him.  To  run  up  flights  of  stairs, 
to  have  responsibility,  to  be  wakened  from 
a  deep  sleep,  to  have  to  watch  the  sick  and 
moribund,  and  all  for  one,  two  or  even  five 
dollars  a  visit — when  you  can  make  hun 
dreds  and  thousands  by  a  turn  of  the  hand 
— why,  how  absurd !  And  so  the  practice 
begins  to  be  neglected.  Troublesome 
cases  and  far-away  calls  are  refused,  and 
even  the  office  practice  is  attended  to  in  a 
perfunctory  manner:  you  have  to  attend 
to  so  many  patients  before  you  make  a 
thousand  dollars,  which  in  real  estate  can 
be  made  even  before  the  deed  is  signed. 
What  is  the  use  bothering ! 

And  that  is  what  happened  to  George. 
He  began  to  treat  his  practice  as  a  matter 
of  minor  importance,  and  ceased  to  attend 
the  meetings  of  medical  societies.  His 
real  estate  transactions  occupied  his  atten 
tion  now.  And  fortune  smiled  on  him. 
Every  deal  he  made  brought  him  profits 
ranging  from  hundreds  to  thousands  of 
18 


MARGARET 

dollars.  But  his  financial  successes  did 
not  touch  a  responsive  chord  in  the  breast 
of  Margaret.  On  the  contrary,  she  began 
to  feel  that  the  distance  between  George 
and  herself  was  daily  growing  wider  and 
wider.  For  his  transactions  brought  him 
in  contact  with  numerous  prosaic,  common 
and  even  shady  characters — real  estate 
sharks,  money  lenders,  builders,  inspec 
tors,  lawyers,  etc.;  these  persons,  who 
grated  fearfully  on  the  fine  sensibilities  of 
Margaret,  were  now  becoming  daily  vis 
itors  and  intimate  associates  of  her  once 
ideal  and  idealistic  husband. 

As  a  rule  she  was  not  visible  when  they 
came,  but  when  she  could  not  help  meet 
ing  them,  she  treated  them  with  coldness 
and  ill-concealed  disdain,  which  made 
George  nurse  a  slight  grudge  against  her. 
One  morning  he  told  her  that  he  thought 
she  ought  to  treat  his  friends  more  cor 
dially.  He  thought  she  owed  him  that 
much  respect.  She  answered  that  she 
19 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

would  be  ashamed  to  call  such  men  his 
friends,  and  as  for  owing  him  any  respect, 
respect,  like  love,  was  not  owed;  it  could 
only  be  given  voluntarily  to  those  who  de 
served  it.  It  was  the  first  time  that  Mar 
garet  ever  made  a  caustic  remark  to 
George,  a  remark  that  testified  of  sup« 
pressed  excitement  and  irritation.  Had 
he  possessed  his  quondam  alertness,  he 
would  have  heeded  the  danger  signal,  and 
he  might  have  prevented  the  oncoming  of 
the  storm.  But  George,  it  must  be  re 
peated  again,  had  become  obtuse  and  all 
his  attention  was  absorbed  in  his  financial 
transactions.  He  was  now  not  only  buy 
ing  and  selling,  but  he  was  building 
houses,  and  often  he  had  to  superintend 
matters  personally ;  and  he  had  become  an 
expert  in  haggling  with  the  contractors. 

At   thirty   Margaret   was   remarkably 

pretty.     When    she    was    eighteen    she 

looked  like  twenty,  at  thirty  she  looked  like 

eighteen.     In  her  walk  and  appearance 

20 


MARGARET 

she  was  more  like  a  school  girl  than  a  mar 
ried  woman.  Her  mirror  told  her  too 
that  she  was  beautiful,  and  when  she 
walked  in  the  street  the  hungry  glances  of 
the  passers-by  told  her  that  her  healthy 
youthful  charms  were  irresistibly  attrac 
tive. 

George  "had  no  time"  to  accompany 
Margaret  to  any  meetings  or  dinners,  so 
when  the  monotonousness  of  staying  home 
all  the  time  began  to  pall  on  her,  she  be 
gan  to  go  out  alone.  She  made  many 
friends,  renewed  old  acquaintances  and 
everywhere  she  was  a  more  than  welcome 
visitor.  She  was  made  much  of  by  every 
body,  but  particularly  by  the  men. 

She  attended  regularly  the  dinners  of 
the  Radical  Club,  which  counts  among  its 
members  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men 
and  women.  Men  and  women  of  all 
shades  of  belief  and  unbelief,  men  and 
women  of  all  kinds  of  principles  and  lack 
of  principles,  gather  at  its  festal  tables. 


Liberal  clergymen,  progressive  republi 
cans  and  democrats,  single  taxers,  parlor 
socialists,  orthodox  marxists,  revolutionary 
socialists,  philosophical  anarchists  and 
anarchists  who  believe  in  dynamite  as  the 
sole  means  of  social  salvation,  vegetarians, 
free  lovers,  deep  thinkers  and  people  who 
only  think  they  think,  artists  and  near- 
artists,  writers  and  would-be  writers,  edi 
tors  and  reportorial  cubs,  actors  and  ac 
tresses  of  various  degrees  of  eminence — 
they  all  gather  at  its  meetings  to  partake 
of  a  rather  poor  dinner  at  a  dollar  a  plate 
and  to  listen  to  the  paper  and  discussions 
of  the  evening,  which  are  sometimes  ex 
cellent,  generally  mediocre  and  occasion 
ally  somnifaciently  dull. 

It  was  at  one  of  these  meetings  that 
Margaret  met  Mr.  Hammond,  John 
Hammond,  well  known  in  radical,  literary 
and  artistic  circles.  John  Hammond  did 
not  have  to  work  for  a  living.  He  lived 
on  his  income,  which  was  left  him  provi- 


MARGARET 

dentially  by  his  father.  He  dawdled 
away  his  time — he  painted  a  little,  wrote 
occasionally  a  short  story,  which  gave  him 
entree  to  the  literary  circles,  and  wrote 
dramatic  criticisms  and  sketches  of  actors 
and  actresses  which  secured  him  free  en 
tree  into  many  theatres.  He  had  charm 
ing  manners,  dressed  well,  talked  fluently, 
tho  superficially,  on  all  topics.  His  reli 
gion  was  pleasure,  his  god,  his  own  ego. 
He  believed  that  the  time  to  enjoy  life  was 
here  and  now,  and  he  meant  to  take  from 
life  all  it  had  to  offer  spontaneously,  and 
all  he  could  wrest  from  it  without  too 
much  effort.  He  was  readily  influenced 
by  the  charms  of  a  pretty  face,  but  the 
sensation  he  felt  at  the  end  of  the  dinner 
at  which  Margaret  Nelson  happened  to  be 
his  vis-a-vis,,  was  unlike  any  he  ever  experi 
enced  before.  Her  utter  lack  of  affec 
tation,  her  bright,  limpid  eyes,  the  untam- 
pered  loveliness  of  her  complexion,  the  un- 
corseted  suppleness  of  her  body,  and  her 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

sane,  advanced,  tho  withal  pure,  views  of 
life — he  was  struck  to  the  innermost 
depths  of  his  not  very  deep  heart. 

He  boasted  of  his  immunity  to  the  im 
becile  thing  called  falling  in  love,  but  he 
was  in  great  danger  of  committing  that 
very  imbecile  thing.  He  was  by  her  side  at 
the  next  dinner,  and  at  every  subsequent 
dinner.  He  asked  permission  to  call,  which 
Margaret  readily  granted  him,  as  she  en 
joyed  his  company.  George  received 
Hammond  coldly,  later  on — noticing  the 
intimate  friendship  between  him  and  Mar 
garet — rudely.  Instinctively,  scenting  a 
danger,  he  began  to  hate  him.  He  would 
have  forbidden  him  the  house,  but  as  a 
radical  is  not  supposed  to  interfere  with 
the  personal  liberty  of  his  wife,  he  re 
strained  from  doing  it.  Besides  he  was 
just  a  bit  afraid  of  Margaret,  who  lately 
did  not  seem  to  be  her  former  self.  But 
finally  his  feelings  got  the  better  of  his 
opinions  and  judgment,  as  they  always,  or 
24 


MARGARET 

usually,  do,  and  he  wrote  a  letter  to  Ham 
mond  forbidding  him  the  house,  which 
was  a  dangerous  and  foolish  thing  to  do. 
After  this  fateful  letter,  Margaret's  cold 
ness  to  George  increased  markedly;  their 
relations  became  strained  and  they  con 
versed  but  seldom  and  little.  She  still 
submitted  at  rare  intervals  to  his  embraces, 
but  they  were  cold,  perfunctory,  appar 
ently  loveless  embraces,  and  they  were 
becoming  more  and  more  distasteful  to 
her,  and  the  intervals  were  becoming 
greater. 

Three  months  passed.  It  was  a  bright, 
beautiful  morning  in  May — the  month  of 
sunshine,  of  renewed  hope,  of  renascent 
love,  of  rejuvenation  and  desire. 

George  and  Margaret  had  finished  their 
breakfast. 

Margaret  was  unusually  pale  and  agi 
tated. 

George  was  beginning  to  add  some  fig 
ures. 

25 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

"Now  as  well  as  later,"  murmured  Mar 
garet. 

Then  turning  to  George:  "George,  I 
have  something  to  tell  you." 

"Just  wait  a  minute,"  answered  George. 
"You  see  I  am  busy." 

"Your  figures  can  wait,  but  if  they 
can't,"  said  Margaret,  "I  only  want  to  tell 
you,  that  I  am  going  to  leave  you — to 
day — for  good."  And  she  began  to  get 
ready. 

The  simile  of  a  piece  of  news  acting  like 
a  blow  on  the  head  has  been  used  so  often 
that  it  is  worn  and  threadbare.  And  still 
it  is  the  most  correct  simile  that  we  can  use. 
The  physiologic  or  rather  pathologic  ef 
fects  are  exactly  the  same.  George  felt 
as  if  he  had  received  a  severe  blow  on  the 
back  of  his  head.  He  became  deathly 
pale,  liis  heart  stood  still,  his  head  began  to 
swim  and  things  seemed  to  be  going 
around,  his  throat  became  instantly  dry, 
but  what  he  remembers  most  distinctly  is 


MARGARET 

the  darkness  that  seemed  to  fill  the  room. 
The  room  was  full  of  sunshine — he  knew 
that,  and  still  everything  seemed  to  be 
dark,  everything  seemed  to  be  assuming  a 
black  color. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  said  in  a 
hoarse,  rasping  but  scarcely  audible  whis 
per.  His  voice  seemed  to  him  strange  and 
not  his  own — and  it  wasn't.  It  made 
Margaret  turn  around. 

"You  know  what  I  mean,"  she  said. 
"This  is  not  the  time  for  meaningless 
phrases." 

He  knew  perfectly  well.  He  also 
knew  that  it  was  useless  to  do  any 
thing,  to  say  anything.  He  knew  Mar 
garet.  He  knew  that  her  decision 
was  irrevocable.  He  knew  that  she  was 
lost  to  him  forever.  He  knew  that  he 
would  never  see  that  dear  beautiful, 
now  so  strangely  pale  and  tense  face 
again.  And  this  knowledge  came  with 
such  overwhelming  suddenness  that  it 
27 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

rendered  him,  weak,  limp,  motionless. 
His  mind  became  a  perfect  blank.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  he  was  sinking  into  a 
terrible  abyss  and  that  a  gigantic  rock  was 
crushing  him  from  above,  pushing  him  fur 
ther  down  and  rendering  impossible  any 
hope  of  exit.  In  a  few  seconds  he  lived 
thru  a  decade  and  he  looked  plainly  ten 
years  older. 

Margaret  seemed  to  have  a  perception 
of  what  was  going  on  in  George's  mind. 
She  was  pained  to  see  him  suffer  so,  but 
she  was  gratified  too.  After  all  he  still 
seemed  to  care  for  her.  Had  he  at  that 
moment  thrown  himself  at  her  feet,  had 
he  run  up  to  her  and  embraced  her  with 
his  strong  arms,  had  he  begged  to  be  given 
another  chance,  had  he  promised  her  that 
things  would  take  a  change  and  that  they 
would  begin  life  all  over  again,  had  he 
done  one  or  all  of  those  things  which  the 
masterful  man  knows  how  to  use  so  effi 
ciently,  it  is  possible  that  Margaret  would 
28 


MARGARET 

have  stayed.  It  is  possible.  Nobody  will 
ever  know  that  to  a  certainty.  Margaret 
herself  doesn't.  She  only  knows  that  she 
was  moved  with  intense  pity  towards  him. 
And  perhaps  her  love  towards  him  was  not 
really  extinguished,  as  she  thought  it  was, 
but  was  only  smoldering  and  required 
but  a  little  effort  to  fan  it  into  a  strong 
steady  flame. 

But  George  did  nothing,  he  made  no 
effort  of  any  kind.  He  was  sitting  dully, 
immovably,  staring  before  himself,  with 
his  face  contorted,  a  slight  shiver  running 
thru  his  body,  and  his  knees  shaking. 
And  when  he  slowly  looked  around,  Mar 
garet  was  gone,  and  things  seemed  darker, 
blacker  still. 

Here  is  the  irony  of  cruel  fate.  If  the 
lack  of  a  thing  causes  us  intense  excruciat 
ing  agony,  then  its  possession  should  cause 
us  great  ecstatic  pleasure.  But  it  is  not 
so.  Being  deprived  of  air,  we  suffer  in 
tensely;  having  plenty  of  air  does  not 
29 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

make  us  happy.  Deprive  a  man  of  water 
for  any  length  of  time,  and  his  suffering 
is  indescribable;  supply  him  with  water 
regularly,  and  he  takes  it  as  a  matter  of 
course.  He  experiences  satisfaction  in 
quenching  his  thirst,  but  no  acute  active 
pleasure.  It  is  this  that  gives  the  pessi 
mists  their  justification  for  asserting  that 
the  pain  and  suffering  in  this  world  are 
indescribably  greater  than  its  satisfactions 
and  pleasures.  Then  again  as  to  the 
amount  of  either  which  we  can  experience. 
The  amount  of  pleasure  is  limited;  the 
slightest  excess  brings  satiation  and  dis 
pleasure  or  disgust.  The  amount  of  suf 
fering  a  man  may  undergo  is  unlimited, 
both  as  to  the  variety  of  its'  aspects  and  to 
duration  of  the  time. 

The  absence  of  Margaret  made  George 
undergo  all  the  tortures  of  hell;  he  suf 
fered  cruelly,  acutely,  unceasingly.  Why 
did  not  her  presence,  except  in  the  first 
months,  cause  him  acute  continuous  pleas- 
30 


MARGARET 

ure?  George  was  sitting  in  the  darkness, 
brooding  dully.  He  was  incapable  of  do 
ing  any  connected  thinking.  The  bell  and 
the  telephone  had  been  going  all  after 
noon,  but  he  instructed  the  man  to  tell 
everybody  that  the  doctor  was  out.  He 
was  not  feeling  well,  and  he  would  not  see 
any  patients.  When  night  came,  he  threw 
himself  on  the  bed,  without  undressing, 
without  lighting  the  gas.  He  passed  a 
fitful  night,  full  of  terrors  and  night 
mares.  In  the  morning,  without  partak 
ing  of  any  breakfast,  he  attended  to  some 
urgent  calls,  came  back  and  locked  himself 
in  his  office. 

On  the  third  day  he  received  the  follow 
ing  letter : 

Dear  George: 

We  were  unable  to  discuss  the  matter 
calmly  when  I  left,  and  I  owe  you  this 
letter.  We  promised  each  other,  that 
when  love  no  longer  bound  us,  we 
would  go  our  ways.  This  time  has  come. 
31 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

You  seem  to  have  long  lost  any  affection 
for  me;  for  months  and  years  you  have  not 
shown  that  you  needed  me.  And  I  fear 
that  I  have  lost  my  love  for  you.  I  could 
not  love  any  person  whom  I  could  not  re 
spect,  and  my  respect  for  you  has  been 
sorely  strained  during  the  last  years,  par 
ticularly  the  last  year  or  two.  I  did  not 
marry  a  real  estate  agent,  a  builder,  a 
money  lender.  I  would  rather  have  you 
with  your  ten  dollars  a  week  and  with 
your  self-respect  and  ideals  than  with 
your  riches  and  coarse  or  shady  characters 
for  friends.  I  was  willing  to  share  want 
and  love,  but  am  not  willing  to  share 
luxury  and  neglect.  I  have  considered 
the  matter  in  my  mind  for  many  months. 
I  would  have  left,  sooner  or  later.  But  I 
love — I  love  John  Hammond  and  am  liv 
ing  with  him  now  [a  weak  groan  escaped 
him  as  he  read  this].  Under  the  circum 
stances,  to  continue  living  with  you  would 
be  a  sin.  I  am  sorry  for  you,  but  we 
32 


must  all  remain  true  to  our  personalities, 
and  live  according  to  our  ideals.  Make 
the  best  of  it.  I  am  sorry.  .  .  .  Be 
happy — as  happy  as  you  can. 

YOUR  MARGARET. 

Had  his  senses  been  in  proper  working 
order,  had  his  psychologic  insight  not  been 
completely  dulled,  he  might  have  per 
ceived  from  the  letter  that  Margaret  still 
loved  him,  and  a  ray  of  hope  might  have 
illumined  his  pitch  dark  soul,  a  ray  of  joy 
might  have  warmed  his  cold  freezing 
heart.  But  he  saw  nothing,  he  thought 
nothing.  All  he  felt  was  that  Margaret 
was  hopelessly  lost  to  him,  and  that  his  life 
henceforth  had  no  object,  no  purpose. 
Only  one  thing  the  letter  did :  to  his  black 
despair  and  misery  there  was  added  the 
green  monster  of  jealousy,  and  daily  that 
monster  dug  its  fangs  into  his  heart  deeper 
and  deeper.  At  the  thought,  either  by 
day  or  night,  that  Margaret  was  in  that 
33 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

wretch's  (that  is  the  only  way  he  thought 
of  John  Hammond)  arms,  he  thought  he 
would  go  insane.  Several  times  he  was  at 
the  point  of  ending  it  all  by  pistol  or 
poison,  but  something  that  he  himself 
could  not  explain  held  him  back. 

There  began  for  him  a  drab,  dreary, 
joyless  existence  in  which  the  days  were 
interminably  long  and  the  nights  a  never- 
ending  nightmare.  He  became  apathetic, 
careless  of  his  appearance,  and  while  he 
attended  to  his  practice,  he  began  to  neg 
lect  his  real  estate  business.  He  began  to 
hate  it,  for  he  felt  it  was  primarily  that 
that  lost  him  Margaret.  Offers  of  great 
bargains  he  rejected  with  contempt.  He 
neglected  to  collect  the  rents,  to  attend  to 
the  proper  repairs,  to  demand  or  pay  in 
terest  when  due,  and  in  many  other  details 
he  was  the  despair  of  the  business  people 
with  whom  he  had  had  negotiations  in  for 
mer  days.  They  could  not  make  him  out. 
He  who  used  to  be  so  eager  to  drive  a  bar- 
34 


MARGARET 

gain,  so  shrewd  in  looking  out  for  his  in 
terests,  and  so  successful  in  piling  up 
profits,  seemed  to  have  lost  all  taste  for 
money.  He  walked  about  like  a  ghost 
and  took  as  much  interest  in  financial  af 
fairs  as  a  ghost. 

Then  the  crisis  came.  Values  began  to 
slump.  His  third  and  second  mortgages 
became  valueless,  and  he  saw  with  mixed 
feelings  of  pain  and  savage  delight  how  in 
a  short  time  his  fortune  of  two  hundred 
thousand  dollars  had  shrunk  to  twenty 
thousand, — the  equity  in  the  house  in 
which  he  lived.  He  wras  indifferent. 
But  soon  this  little  handful  of  his  for 
mer  fortune  began  to  be  threatened. 
He  was  in  danger  of  losing  the  roof 
over  his  head.  A  little  of  his  for 
mer  energy  returned  to  him.  He  be 
gan  to  work  at  his  practice.  He  rushed 
wherever  called,  any  hour,  day  or  night. 
He  began  again  to  take  confinements,  and 
a  night  call  to  a  confinement  was  most  wel- 
35 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

come  to  him  as  it  saved  him  from  tossing 
on  his  lonely  bed,  it  saved  him  the  tortures 
of  sleepless  nights,  interrupted  now  and 
then  by  a  nightmare.  This  was  the  worst 
thing  he  had  to  contend  against  now,  an 
obstinate  insomnia  which  resisted  all  pow 
ders  and  potions.  And  he  began  to  run 
down.  The  people  about  him  noticed  it, 
—he  didn't.  If  he  did,  he  didn't  care. 

One  morning,  after  a  particularly  bad 
night,  trying  to  get  up,  he  found  that  he 
couldn't.  He  had  an  excruciating  head 
ache,  everything  ached  in  him,  and  he  felt 
as  weak  as  an  infant.  He  had  been  feel 
ing  badly  for  the  last  few  days,  but  had 
paid  no  attention  to  it.  "The  beginning  of 
the  end,"  he  murmured,  but  this  was  his 
last  rational  thought.  His  servant  found 
him  burning  with  fever  and  delirious. 
The  doctors  that  were  called  in  pro 
nounced  it  typhoid  with  meningeal  symp 
toms.  He  remained  unconscious  and  de 
lirious  for  many  days,  and  in  his  delirium 
36 


MARGARET 

the  names  Margaret  and  Hammond  oc 
curred  again  and  again.  His  brain  seemed 
to  be  in  constant  agitation.  Sometimes, 
while  picking  at  his  bed  clothes,  his  face 
would  be  illumined  by  a  blissful  smile  and 
he  would  murmur  inaudible  words;  at 
other  times  his  face  would  express  anguish 
and  suffering  and  his  groans  would  go 
thru  the  heart  of  those  around  him,  one 
person  particularly.  She  would  then  go 
to  his  bed,  smooth  his  brow,  arrange  the 
pillow  or  the  ice  cap  on  his  head  and 
quietly  glide  away.  It  was  a  long  battle. 
Many  times  his  life  was  hanging  on  a 
thread  and  several  times  the  doctors 
thought,  if  they  did  not  say  so,  that  there 
was  no  more  hope. 

One  morning  he  awoke,  with  his  head 
perfectly  clear,  and  all  his  senses  super- 
acute.  Nature  sometimes  sends  such  mo 
ments  to  desperately  ill  people,  just  be 
fore  the  final  act  of  dissolution.  But  he 
felt  so  weak,  so  weak,  that  when  he  tried 
37 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

to  move  his  arm  it  was  like  trying  to  move 
a  mountain.  He  gave  up  the  eff ort  and 
lay  perfectly  still.  But  his  eyes  were 
open.  He  did  not  know  how  long  he  had 
been  ill,  but  he  felt  that  he  must  have  been 
desperately  sick  for  a  long  time.  And  he 
remembered  clearly  some  of  the  dreams 
that  racked  his  tortured  brain. 

"Another  one  of  those  cursed  dreams!" 
he  muttered  to  himself  with  bitterness. 
For  in  the  gloaming  of  the  early  dawn  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  saw  the  outline  of 
Margaret,  reclining  in  a  chair.  "I  must 
be  in  pretty  bad  shape  if  visual  hallucina 
tions  are  becoming  so  vivid,  so  real."  But 
no,  his  mind  was  clear,  and  there  in  the 
chair  was  certainly  the  figure  of  a  woman, 
and  it  was  not  that  of  a  nurse  either. 
There  was  but  one  woman  in  the  world 
who  looked  like  that.  "Margaret,"  he 
called  in  a  low  voice,  a  voice  that  was  full 
of  hope  and  fear,  of  joy  and  agony.  In 
stantly  she  was  on  her  feet  and  near  his 


MARGARET 

bed.  "What  is  it,  dearest?"  and  there  was 
so  much,  so  much  love,  so  much  sweetness 
in  her  voice  that  it  acted  like  a  demulcent 
balm  to  his  bruised  body  and  crushed 
heart.  "What  is  it,  dearest?"  she  re 
peated.  "At  last,  at  last,  thank  Heaven. 
I  could  not  have  stood  it  much  longer." 
"Thank  you,  Margaret,  but  I  am  afraid 
you  came  too  late."  "No,  dearest  (how 
long,  he  thought,  since  she  had  used  that 
word),  it  is  not  too  late.  Don't  talk. 
They,  the  doctors,  despaired.  But  I 
nursed  you  back  to  consciousness,  and  I 
will  nurse  you  back  to  health."  "It  is  so 
good  of  you  to  say  so,  but—  "  she  did  not 
let  him  continue.  She  patted  his  head 
and  forehead,  she  touched  her  dainty 
fingers  to  his  lips,  and  he  imbibed  their 
aroma,  as  a  thirst-parched  man  imbibes  a 
cooling  draught. 

She  closed  his  eyes  and  bade  him  sleep. 
After  a  little  while  his  throat  and  lips  be 
gan  to  work  convulsively.     He  wanted  to 
39 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

talk,  but  he  found  it  difficult  to  articulate 
the  words.  With  a  woman's  intuition, 
tho  he  had  not  pronounced  a  word,  she 
guessed  what  he  yearned  to  know,  but 
found  difficulty  in  asking.  "No,  dear,  I 
have  not  come  just  for  a  visit,"  she  said; 
"I  have  come  to  stay  with  you  for  good, 
forever."  She  did  not  add :  "If  you  still 
want  me."  Not  for  a  moment  did  the 
idea  cross  her  mind,  that  he  might  not 
want  her  any  more.  She  was  sure  that  he 
longed  for  her  more  than  ever,  and  that 
that  phrase  would  have  been  hypocritical. 
And  hypocrisy  of  every  sort  was  foreign 
to  Margaret's  character.  These  words 
put  new  life  into  his  soul.  He  remained 
quiet.  But  after  a  while  he  could  not  re 
frain  from  asking:  "And — he?"  "He  has 
gone  out  of  my  life  as  if  he  had  never 
existed.  Don't  worry  about  anything. 
Just  get  well." 

And  he  began  to  get  well.     Not  very 
rapidly,     for     his     system    was    under- 
40 


MARGARET 

mined,  but  in  about  two  months  more 
he  began  to  attend  to  his  practice. 
He  became  apparently  normal  in  every 
respect,  and  still  something  was  lacking. 
If  he  himself  did  not  perceive  it,  Margaret 
did.  While  he  attended  to  all  his  affairs, 
it  was  done  in  an  indifferent  automatic 
manner.  As  if  it  didn't  matter  one  way 
or  another.  It  seemed  as  if  something 
had  snapped  within  him.  A  vital  spring. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  objective  point. 
He  knew  he  had  to  attend  to  his  practice 
in  order  to  make  a  living,  but  there  did  not 
seem  to  be  any  particular  reason  for  mak 
ing  that  living.  He  loved  Margaret  and 
loved  her  presence,  but  it  was  more  the 
love  of  a  child  for  its  mother.  He  felt 
lonely  and  unhappy  in  her  absence,  but  he 
did  not  feel  buoyantly  happy  in  her  pres 
ence.  Just  a  feeling  of  security  and  con 
tentment,  but  not  one  of  radiant  happi 
ness.  In  short  he  was  in  that  peculiar  sad 
state  of  mind,  when  one  takes  things  just 
41 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

as  they  come.  When  the  blows  of  fate 
do  not  hurt  much  and  the  smiles  of  for 
tune  do  not  exalt  much.  A  state  of  mind 
praised  by  philosophers,  but  very  distress 
ful  to  one's  dearest  and  most  loving.  And 
Margaret  loved  George  now  more  than 
ever  in  her  life. 

Pity  alone  will  not  generate  love,  but 
when  a  woman  loves  a  man,  and  that  man 
becomes  the  object  of  pity,  if  he  suffers, 
if  he  needs  her  aid  and  protection,  then  her 
love  becomes  increased  a  hundredfold ;  for 
pity  will  often  fan  the  dying  embers  of 
affection  into  a  strong  and  steadily  burn 
ing  flame  of  love. 

Margaret,  the  high-strung,  saw  that  a 
life  like  this  was  not  worth  while.  Some 
radical  change  had  to  be  made.  This  was 
also  necessary  because  George's  health  did 
not  improve  with  the  lapse  of  time.  He 
remained  thin,  flabby,  anemic  and  some 
what  haggard.  And  lately  he  began  to 
develop  a  slight  "hack"  in  the  morning, 
42 


MARGARET 

which  Margaret  did  not  like,  tho  he  him 
self  ascribed  no  significance  to  it.  She 
feared  he  was  running  into  consumption. 
Without  George's  knowledge  she  con 
sulted  a  physician  who  knew  them  well. 
He  told  her  frankly  that  he  did  not  like 
George's  physical  condition,  and  that  her 
fear  might  have  some  foundation,  unless  a 
radical  change  was  made  in  his  life. 

Margaret  did  a  good  deal  of  thinking. 
One  morning  she  said:  "George,  you  know 
that  we  cannot  go  on  living  like  this?" 
"Why?"  he  asked  weakly.  "Because  it 
is  not  worth  while,"  she  replied.  "You 
know  that  you  get  no  pleasure  out  of  life, 
and  seeing  your  apathetic  condition,  I  can 
not  take  any  interest  in  anything.  It  is 
not  in  order  to  lead  such  a  life  that  we  tied 
our  fates  together."  "What  would  you 
want  me  to  do?"  he  asked  somewhat 
frightened,  the  paleness  of  his  face  becom 
ing  markedly  accentuated. 

"Nothing,  my  dear  big  baby.  Don't 
43 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

fear."  And  she  put  her  arms  around  his 
neck  and  kissed  him  long  and  lovingly. 
"I  shall  stay  with  you  no  matter  what  hap 
pens,  until  death  do  us  part.  Only  I 
want  you  to  let  me  manage  things  for  a 
while.  You  are  sick.  You  have  lost  the 
greatest  possession  one  can  lose:  interest 
in  life.  Without  that,  life  is  not  worth 
living.  I  will  try  to  restore  to  you  what 
you  lost.  You  have  been  running  things, 
and  you  will  admit  you  have  not  made  a 
great  success.  Now  let  me  run  things 
for  a  while.  But  you  must  put  yourself 
implicitly  into  my  hands  and  ask  no  ques 
tions.  All  you  will  have  to  do  probably 
will  be  to  sign  some  papers. 

"Dearest,"  he  answered,  "you  are  right. 
I  am  sick.  Sick  in  body,  and  sick  in 
spirit.  I  will  let  you  do  whatever  you 
consider  best.  You  can  do  no  wrong.  I 
wish  I  had  let  you  run  things  right  along. 
But  I  love  you  just  as  much  as  I  ever  did. 
Perhaps,  more  so — " 
44 


MARGARET 

"Yes,  dear,  I  know.  In  the  ab 
stract- — yes.  But  a  person  whose  phys 
ical  and  psychic  back  is  broken  can 
not  love  passionately,  and  cannot  express 
his  love — properly.  One  need  not  be  a 
physician  to  be  a  psychologist,  and  I  fear, 
dear,  that  I  am  a  better  psychologist  than 
you  are,  if  you  don't  mind  my  saying  so. 
I  will  have  you  love  me  the  way  you  did 
during  the  first  year  of  our  married  life." 

Here  she  kissed  him  again  and  ran  off 
to  attend  to  some  affairs.  He  looked 
after  her  with  loving  and  admiring  eyes. 

The  following  few  weeks  were  busy 
weeks  for  Margaret.  She  was  gone  sev 
eral  hours  every  day.  And  in  the  evening 
she  was  calculating,  adding,  subtracting, 
consulting  travel  and  guide  books,  writing 
letters,  etc. 

"What  are  you  up  to,  Margaret?"  he 
asked. 

"You  will  find  out,  dearest.  For  the 
present  I  am  busy  severing  the  tentacles 
45 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

that  hold  or  might  hold  you  to  your  past 
life." 

And  he  soon  found  out  the  meaning  of 
these  words.  Every  piece  of  real  estate 
that  George  still  owned,  actually  or  nom 
inally,  was  offered  for  sale  and  was  dis 
posed  of  at  a  sacrifice  if  necessary.  All 
the  mortgages  he  held  were  sold  outright. 
Every  bill  was  paid,  every  claim  against 
him  was  settled.  Finally  the  day  came 
when  the  house  itself  in  which  they  lived, 
with  all  the  furniture  in  it,  was  sold.  A 
few  little  trinkets  and  a  few  books — that 
was  all  that  Margaret  cared  to  keep. 

When  everything  they  possessed  in  the 
world  was  sold  and  when  all  the  bills  were 
paid,  Margaret  found  that  she  had  just 
three  thousand  dollars  in  cash.  She  was 
very  happy.  "Even  more  than  we  need," 
she  said.  And  George  smiled.  One 
thousand  dollars  she  deposited  in  a  sav 
ings  bank,  and  for  the  two  thousand 
dollars  she  got  a  letter  of  credit.  Three 
46 


MARGARET 

days  later  they    embarked  for  Europe. 

And  as  they  stood  on  deck  watching  the 
slowly  receding  city,  Margaret  said :  "And 
now,  dearest,  we  are  beginning  an  entirely 
new  chapter  in  our  life.  Bid  America 
good-bye  for  two  years.  For  we  will 
stay  away  that  length  of  time.  Don't 
fear.  I  made  all  calculations,  and  on  a 
thousand  dollars  a  year  we  can  live  very 
comfortably  in  Europe."  She  had  no  fear 
of  the  future.  She  knew  that  George  was 
clever  and  brainy,  that  his  reputation  as  a 
physician  was  excellent,  and  that  if  he 
only  regained  his  physical  health  and 
psychic  equilibrium,  he  would  have  no  dif 
ficulty  in  making  a  living. 

They  took  the  Mediterranean  route,  for 
their  first  objective  point  was  Capri.  Two 
months  in  this  earthly  paradise,  under  the 
influence  of  its  balmy  air,  luxuriant  veg 
etation  and  soft,  easy-going  people,  made 
a  new  man  out  of  George.  The  expres 
sion  "a  new  man,"  "a  new  woman"  has  a 
47 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

certain  justification  in  fact.  Not  only  do 
the  physical  cells,  under  stimulated  metab 
olism,  become  more  rapidly  renewed,  but 
under  certain  conditions,  the  person's  en 
tire  point  of  view  undergoes  a  rapid  meta 
morphosis,  so  that  he  or  she  can  be  called 
a  new  man  or  woman  in  the  true  sense  of 
the  word.  George  was  becoming  a  new 
man.  He  began  to  look  at  life  differ 
ently.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  be 
gan  to  experience  that  inexpressible  feel 
ing  of  joie  de  vivre,  when  one  feels  pleas 
ure  merely  in  being  alive  and  does  not 
ask  himself  any  questions,  why,  whence, 
what  for  and  to  what  purpose. 

At  first  Margaret  took  care  of  him  as  of 
a  little  child.  She  did  not  let  him  do  any 
thing.  She  devoted  her  entire  time  and 
attention  to  his  comfort.  As  he  gained 
strength,  he  became  fidgety  and  wanted 
to  begin  to  do  something.  But  she  would 
not  let  him.  "You  are  taking  the  rest 
cure  and  are  under  my  professional  care," 
48 


MARGARET 

she  said  jokingly  and  he  had  to  submit. 
She  did  not  tell  him  at  the  time  that  in  her 
management  of  him  she  was  guided  by  the 
advice  of  a  very  clever  physician.  When 
she  saw  that  he  had  really  gained  strength, 
she  suggested  that  they  take  up  the 
study  of  foreign  languages — Italian  and 
French.  He  accepted  the  suggestion 
with  enthusiasm.  And  they  studied  to 
gether,  they  quizzed  each  other,  corrected 
each  other's  translations — it  was  great 
fun. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  line  of  study 
that  will  make  a  person  feel  so  young  as 
the  study  of  a  foreign  language.  The 
study  of  declensions  and  conjugations,  of 
irregular  verbs,  the  cases  demanded  by 
various  propositions,  etc.,  transfers  you 
into  the  years  of  childhood,  and  for  the 
time  being  you  are  a  child  again.  They 
found  that  within  one  month  they  could 
converse  with  the  natives  in  the  world's 
most  beautiful  language,  and  this  af- 
49 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

forded  them  much  pleasure.  A  little  later 
Margaret  suggested  that  they  ought  to 
take  up  the  study  of  art.  They  did  not 
expect  to  become  real  students  of  art,  but 
something  of  the  subject  they  ought  to 
know.  There  had  been  a  hiatus  in  their 
education  in  this  respect  as  there  is  in  the 
education  of  many  radicals.  They  had 
read  books  on  philosophy,  sociology,  po 
litical  economy ;  they  were  pretty  familiar 
with  the  world's  best  literature,  but  about 
art  they  knew  nothing.  And  they  ought 
to  know  something  about  it,  especially  as 
they  were  in  the  land  of  art.  So  they  took 
up  the  study  of  art.  He  was  getting 
stronger,  and  Margaret  was  getting 
dearer  and  more  indispensable  to  him 
from  day  to  day.  They  visited  Naples, 
Rome,  Florence,  Pisa,  Verona,  Venice  and 
other  Italian  cities  and  each  city  disclosed 
new  treasures  of  art  to  them.  They  were 
living  their  real  honeymoon  now,  with  its 
pleasures,  ecstasies  and  voluptuousness, 
50 


MARGARET 

and  they  felt  that  only  now  they  were 
living. 

"We  are  not  only  living  now,"  she  said, 
"but  we  are  putting  away  a  good  capital 
for  the  future." 

From  Italy  they  went  to  Switzerland. 
Here  nature  disclosed  herself  to  them 
in  an  entirely  new  aspect.  Every  day 
brought  new  beauties,  new  ecstasies. 
They  took  long  walks,  they  climbed  the 
mountains,  they  crossed  the  glaciers,  and 
from  week  to  week  they  felt  they  were 
getting  younger,  stronger,  and  wirier. 
Margaret  knew  that  George  was  a  new 
man  indeed,  and  he  felt  it  in  every  fiber 
of  his  strong  body  and  vibrant  soul.  He 
acquired  a  broader  outlook  on  the  world, 
and  what  was  more  important  for  Mar 
garet  he  acquired  an  imperturbable  equi 
poise  and  sangfroid.  Where  formerly  he 
would  kick  and  grumble,  now  disagree 
able  accidents  and  trifles  that  cannot  be 
avoided,  whether  traveling  >or  at  home, 
51 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

left  him  absolutely  serene  and  undis 
turbed.  Which  is  of  great  importance  to 
a  wife.  Nothing  so  sure  to  mar  the  daily 
life  or  the  vacation  of  a  wife,  as  an  irrita 
ble,  fussy,  squabbling  husband,  be  that 
husband  ever  so  loyal  and  loving.  Mar 
garet  knew  that  now  George  would  be  a 
safe  and  sane  man  to  live  with. 

It  was  a  heavenly  evening:  everything 
calm  and  peaceful,  the  sky  clear  and  blue, 
the  air  cool  and  yet  balmy.  The  cows 
were  wending  their  way  home,  playing 
sweet  melodies  on  the  bells  around  their 
necks.  George  and  Margaret  were  sit 
ting  on  the  balcony  of  the  modest  little 
hotel  built  on  the  very  edge  of  the  water 
and  were  watching  the  fiery  sun-globe 
getting  ready  suddenly  to  sink  into  the 
lovely  lake  of  Brienz.  In  the  distance 
were  the  rugged  giants  of  the  Bernese 
Alps.  All  was  calm  and  peaceful,  all 
looked  eternally  permanent.  They  felt 
not  only  supremely  content,  but  happy. 
52 


MARGARET 

They  felt  that  this  sojourn  in  Europe  was 
the  wisest,  the  sanest  step  they  could  have 
taken.  George  said  it  was  the  best  in 
vestment  they  have  ever  made  (Margaret 
did  not  like  the  word  investment) . 
Neither  spoke  a  word.  There  are  mo 
ments  when  silence  is  more  eloquent,  more 
expressive  than  words  can  be. 

"Dearest,"  he  said  suddenly,  "I  want  to 
ask  you  something.  You  never  spoke  to 
me  about — Hammond.  At  first,  it  was 
perhaps  just  as  well.  Maybe  the  wound 
or  the  scar  was  too  fresh  and  it  might  have 
bled  on  touching  it.  But  I  have  no  fear 
now.  I  have  fully  recovered,  and  I  know, 
perhaps  because  I  know,  that  you  are 
wholly  and  forever  mine.  It  is  not  well 
that  there  be  even  a  single  dark  point  be 
tween  us.  Tell  me  about  it,  love." 

"Does  that  episode  still  rankle  or  bother 
you?"  she  asked. 

"No,  I  assure  you,  it  does  not  'bother' 
me,  nor  does  it  rankle;  not  in  the  least. 
53 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

But  our  avoiding  it,  may  give  either  of 
us  the  impression  that  we  are  still  afraid 
to  touch  it.  Tell  me  how  and  why  you 
left  him,  or  any  other  details  you  care  to 
impart  to  me." 

"There  is  really  not  much  to  tell.  The 
circumstances  accompanying  my  going  to 
him  you  know.  But  I  soon  perceived  that 
he  was  a  shallow,  selfish  fellow.  Every 
thing  in  him  was  superficial.  He  had  not 
a  deep  thought,  or  a  deep  feeling.  His 
radicalism  was  a  put-on  garment;  which 
he  would  have  readily  thrown  off  and  ex 
changed  for  a  conservative  coat  if  it  paid 
him  to  do  so.  He  had  only  one  god  and 
one  ideal  in  the  world  to  live  for — that 
was  himself.  He  seemed  to  he  very 
happy  at  first,  but  I  soon  perceived  that 
his  satisfaction  was  not  so  much  in  me,  as 
in  his  victory  over  me.  I  soon  felt  deeply 
ashamed  of  myself  for  having  given  my 
self  to  such  a  man.  I  hadn't  been  quite  a 
month  with  him  when  I  left  him." 
54 


MARGARET 

"You  did?  And  why  didn't  you  come 
at  once  back  to  me,  to  your  home?  You 
knew  that  I  would  have  been  supremely 
happy  to  have  you."  He  said  this  in  a 
low,  halting  voice. 

"Yes,  I  knew  that.  That  I  never 
doubted.  But  I  felt  ashamed,  I  confess, 
and  besides  I  thought  it  would  be  too  soon. 
I  felt  it  would  do  you  good  to  be  a  few 
months  without  me.  Tho  of  course  I 
never  imagined  what  was  going  on.  Had 
I  known,  I  would  have  returned  sooner. 
I  was  in  Paris  at  the  time,  and  as  soon 
as  I  learned  of  your  illness,  I  took  the  first 
boat  and  came  directly  to  you.  And  what 
nights  of  torture  and  self-reproach  I 
passed  watching  over  you,  while  you  were 
tossing  unconscious  and  delirious!" 

"And  did  he  not  make  any  attempt  to 
have  you  come  back  to  him?" 

Margaret  smiled.  She  saw  that  Ham 
mond  was  still  troubling  George.  Hus 
bands  are  apt  to  show  an  unhealthy  inter- 
55 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

est  in  their  wives'  loves,  present  and  ex. 
"Yes,  he  did.  We  were  stopping  in 
Paris  in  one  of  the  largest  hotels.  My 
immediate  reason  for  leaving  him  was 
rather  a  vulgar  one.  I  noticed  that  he 
was  carrying  on  with  one  of  the  painted 
chambermaids.  I  packed  my  luggage 
and  moved  over  to  another  hotel.  He 
came  to  see  me,  begged  me,  rather  un- 
convincingly,  and  as  it  seemed  to  me  not 
wholeheartedly,  to  come  back.  But  I 
told  him  that  he  must  never  see  me  or  talk 
to  me  again.  And  he  saw  that  I  meant 
it.  He  soon  consoled  himself  with  a 
flashy  demimondaine.  I  met  him  walking 
with  her  on  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens  the 
following  night  and  on  several  following 
nights.  And  now,  dear,  let  this  be  finis 
Hammond  and  finis  the  episode.  You 
must  never  refer  to  him  again.  It  is  un 
pleasant,  the  memory  of  him  leaves  an 
unpleasant  taste,  so  why  bring  it  up 
again?" 

56 


MARGARET 

"No,  dearest,  have  no  fear.  This  is 
finis  Hammond  forever.  While  I  was 
quite  sure  of  your  love  for  me,  I  confess 
I  still  feared  that  perhaps  you  also  enter 
tained  some  affectionate  thought  of  him. 
Now,  what  you  told  me  leaves  me  quite 
easy  on  this  score." 

"Oh,  selfishness,  thy  name  is  man," 
laughed  Margaret,  and  they  indulged  in  a 
long  ecstatic  embrace. 

George  knew  that  in  order  to  practice 
medicine  successfully — successfully  not 
only  from  a  financial  but  from  a  scientific 
point  of  view — he  would  have  to  brush  up 
on  it  considerably.  No  science  or  art  is 
making  more  gigantic  strides  than  medi 
cine  is.  Let  a  man  lose  touch  with  medi 
cine  for  five  years,  let  him  then  pick  up  a 
medical  journal  and  he  will  have  difficulty 
in  reading  it  without  the  latest  edition  of  a 
medical  dictionary.  Hundreds  of  new 
words  are  coined  every  year.  These  new 
words  mean  something;  they  are  not 
57 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

merely  new  conglomerations  of  syllables. 
They  stand  for  advances  in  medicine :  for 
new  remedies,  new  methods  of  treatment 
and  diagnosis,  new  surgical  operations 
and  technique,  new  facts,  new  theories. 

George  had  been  out  of  touch  with  medi 
cal  progress  not  only  during  the  past  year, 
during  their  travels,  but  also  for  three  or 
four  years  previously,  during  the  height 
of  his  real  estate  activity  and  while  Mar 
garet  was  away.  A  deep  interest  in  real 
estate  transactions  is  not  compatible  with 
scientific  or  artistic  pursuits,  and  when 
Margaret  was  away — why  then  he  didn't 
care  if  this  whole  world  had  gone  to  pieces. 
In  fact,  an  earthquake  destroying  and  en 
gulfing  everything  would  have  been  wel 
come  to  him.  But  now  he  began  to  study 
as  he  studied  when  he  wras  in  the  twenties. 
He  became  again  a  medical  student  and  he 
matriculated  as  such  in  the  various  foreign 
universities.  From  morning  to  night  he 
attended  lectures,  clinics,  laboratories, 
58 


MARGARET 

hospitals,  assisted  at  operations,  took  pri 
vate  courses,  and  devoured  everything  that 
was  new  in  medicine.  Margaret  was 
afraid  he  was  overdoing  it  and  wanted 
him  to  moderate  his  ardor,  but  he  said  he 
felt  splendidly  and  he  wanted  to  make  up 
for  time  lost.  And  while  George  was  in 
the  laboratories  and  hospitals,  Margaret 
read,  studied,  attended  concerts  and  lec 
tures,  cooked  dinner  and  kept  house. 
For  they  lived  now  in  furnished  rooms, 
and  not  in  hotels.  Hotels  are  not  con 
ducive  to  earnest  hard  work.  The  fes 
tive  atmosphere  therein  is  a  discordant 
element.  They  thus  spent  four  months 
in  Berlin,  three  months  in  Vienna,  about 
two  months  in  the  smaller  German  and 
Swiss  universities  and  two  months  in 
Paris.  And  then  George  knew  that  he 
was  up  to  the  last  word  in  the  science  and 
art  of  medicine. 

At  Boulogne  they  embarked  for  New 
York.     The  two  years  were  over — just 
59 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

one  week  short  of  two  years,  and  Mar 
garet,  who  was  full  of  romantic  notions, 
took  a  steamer  which  was  to  arrive  in  New 
York  just  on  the  anniversary  of  the  day 
they  had  left  it  two  years  previously.  A 
happier  pair  than  George  and  Margaret 
the  big  transatlantic  greyhound  did  not 
contain,  even  among  those — or  perhaps 
least  of  all  among  those — who  had  suites 
of  rooms  with  private  baths  and  ate  apart 
from  the  rest  of  the  passengers. 

It  was  on  the  eve  of  the  day  they  were 
to  arrive  in  New  York.  They  were  stand 
ing  at  the  railing  in  a  secluded  part  of  the 
boat. 

"To-morrow,  dear,  will  be  two  years 
since  we  bade  good-bye  to  New  York," 
said  Margaret.  "Do  you  feel  better  now 
than  you  did  then?" 

His  answer  was  a  passionate  em 
brace. 

And  after  a  pause:  "Do  you  know,  love, 
that  it  is  hard  for  me  to  associate  myself 
60 


MARGARET 

with  myself  of  two  or  five  years  ago? 
Abstractly,  I  know  it  is  the  same  person, 
but  concretely,  practically,  I  can't  make  it 
out.  And  perhaps  I  am  not.  Under  the 
influence  of  the  rapid  metabolism  which  I 
have  undergone  for  the  last  two  years  and 
a  half,  it  is  possible  that  not  a  single  one 
of  my  former  physical  cells  has  remained 
in  my  present  body.  Ergo  I  am  a  new 
man." 

"You  are  a  new  man  to  me,  dearest. 
You  are  as  you  were  when  I  first  met  you, 
only  much  better,  much  wiser,  much 
kinder."  And  here  another  long,  passion 
ate  kiss  put  a  stop  to  further  conversa 
tion.  When  they  arrived  in  New  York 
—and  their  joyful  entrance  into  the  city 
of  Mammon  was  only  marred  by  noticing 
the  rowdy  manner  in  which  the  steerage 
passengers  were  handled.  Margaret  had 
one  hundred  dollars  left  out  of  the  two 
thousand.  They  drove  to  a  hotel,  and  it 
gave  them  a  peculiar  sensation  to  live  like 
61 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

strangers  in  a  city  in  which  they  had  al 
most  always  been  residents. 

George  thought  they  would  stay  in 
the  hotel  a  day  or  two(  fbut  Margaret 
said,  "No,  as  long  as  the  hundred  dollars 
would  last."  And  they  had  lots  of  fun  in 
those  few  days;  they  saw  more  of  the 
city  in  these  days  than  they  had  in  twenty 
years  before, — they  went  to  theaters,  to 
moving  picture  shows,  and,  altogether,  be 
haved  like  two  young  people  just  married 
and  disgracefully  in  love  with  each  other. 
They  felt  as  if  they  were  on  their  first 
honeymoon — they  could  not  afford  a  hon 
eymoon  when  they  got  married — only 
everything  seemed  better,  clearer,  saner, 
more  hopeful. 

They  took  a  house  and  furnished  it,  and 
very  soon  George  had  more  practice  than 
he  could  physically  attend  to.  He  took 
a  reliable  assistant,  then  another  and  still 
another,  and  he  spends  a  good  deal  of  his 
time  in  literary  and  social  work.  And 
62 


MARGARET 

Margaret  is  in  everything",  everywhere; 
she  guides,  advises  and  directs,  and  if  he 
does  not  see  her  for  an  hour  or  two  he  feels 
an  aching  void.  There  is  not  a  happier 
couple  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Their 
bliss  is  marred  by  only  one  thing:  They 
have  no  children.  But  George  is  so 
wrapped  up  in  Margaret  that  he  feels 
the  lack  only  occasionally. 

Of  one  thing  he  is  sure,  that  if  Mar 
garet  left  this  earth  before  him,  he  would 
not  survive  her  by  twenty-four  hours. 
He  couldn't.  Life  without  her  would  be 
so  empty,  so  senseless,  that  it  would  be 
utterly  unthinkable. 

And  here,  for  the  present,  ends  the 
story  of  Margaret  and  George,  a  radical 
New  York  couple. 


63 


THEY 
WAITED  TOO  LONG 


010 

Qlraufol 


WHO  UNDERSTANDS  AND  LOVES 
MANKIND 


THEY  WAITED  TOO  LONG 


first  time  I  met  Rosbert  and 
Lilith  was  at  a  fancy  masquerade 
ball.  They  were  dressed  like  a 
Scotch  lad  and  lassie  respectively,  and 
they  made  so  pretty  a  picture  that  they 
excited  the  approving  admiration  of  all 
present.  They  not  only  made  pretty  pic 
tures,  they  also  gave  the  impression  of  pic 
tures  of  health.  He  of  medium  size, 
stocky  and  well-knit,  she  tall,  lissome, 
supple.  He  was  nineteen,  she  was 
eighteen.  There  was  joy  in  the  faces  and 
hope  in  the  hearts  of  both  Rosbert  and 
Lilith.  It  did  not  need  a  very  observant 
eye  to  notice  that  they  were  deeply,  gen 
uinely  in  love  with  each  other.  I  was  told 
that  they  were,  or  were  about  to  be,  en 
gaged.  "What  a  well-mated  couple,  and 
what  healthy  progeny  they  will  bring  into 
the  world,"  thought  I,  as  I  watched  them 
67 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

dancing  with  abandon.  For  they  did  look 
the  pictures  of  perfect  health  and  exuber 
ant  spirits. 

I  did  not  see  Rosbert  or  Lilith  for  three 
years.  At  the  end  of  that  period,  Ros 
bert  made  his  appearance  at  my  office  to 
consult  me  for  a  trifling  a,ilment — a  slight 
bronchitis.  I  was  still  in  general  practice 
then.  I  asked  him  if  he  was  married 
already.  He  answered  in  the  negative, 
but  his  tone  indicated  that  my  question 
seemed  to  him  preposterous.  "Oh,  no. 
We  are  still  too  young  to  get  married." 
I  told  him  that  I  believed  in  early  mar 
riages.  "And  besides  I  am  not  yet  mak 
ing  enough  to  support  a  wife  in  the  proper 
style,"  he  replied.  And  Lilith,  who  ac 
companied  him — they  seldom  went  any 
where  one  without  the  other — smiled  ap 
proval.  And  she  was  beautiful.  The 
rosebud  that  I  had  seen  three  years  ago 
was  opening  up  into  a  full  blown  delicious 
rose. 

68 


THEY  WAITED  TOO  LONG 

Again  three  years  passed.  This  time  it 
was  Lilith  that  was  not  feeling  very  well. 
Or  at  least  she  was  not  looking  very  well. 
She  felt  a  little  languid,  her  appetite  was 
not  very  good,  she  did  not  sleep  as  soundly 
as  she  used  to ;  she  always  had  been  a  very- 
sound  sleeper,  she  told  me,  and  she  had  oc 
casional  headaches.  "Otherwise"  she  was 
feeling  very  well.  No,  they  were  not  mar 
ried  yet,  but  they  expected  to  get  married 
next  year,  surely.  Rosbert  expected  a 
raise  in  his  salary,  and  then  everything 
would  be  all  right.  I  examined  her  and 
found  a  plain  case  of  chlorosis,  and  did  the 
only  thing  we  can  do  in  such  cases:  pre 
scribed  a  preparation  of  iron  and  arsenic, 
ordered  more  nutritious  diet  and  more 
fresh  air.  I  knew  the  cause  of  her 
anemia,  knew  what  would  cure  her  more 
quickly  than  any  drug  in  or  out  of  the 
pharmacopeia,  and  told  her  frankly  that  it 
would  be  a  good  thing  for  her  health  to 
get  married.  And  Rosbert  did  not  look 
69 


so  very  well  either.  His  face,  always  ex 
pressive  of  the  joy  of  life  and  of  the  ex 
uberance  of  good  spirits,  began  to  show  the 
first  signs  of  a  little  worry,  of  some  dis 
satisfaction. 

For  the  next  four  years  I  heard  of  Ros- 
bert  and  Lilith  only  incidentally.  I  heard 
that  he  gave  up  his  position  because  the 
promotion  which  he  expected  did  not 
come,  and  went  in  business  for  himself. 
He  was  doing  well  for  a  while,  but  lately 
business  was  bad,  in  fact,  very  bad.  I  met 
him  and  he  looked  rather  thin,  worried 
and  decidedly  nervous.  He  began  to  have 
the  apologetic  air,  which  unsuccessful  peo 
ple,  or  people  with  a  certain  kind  of  weak 
ness,  have  about  them.  I  asked  him  how  he 
felt,  and  he  said  he  felt  "very  well,  very 
well ;  yes,  quite  well,  but  I  will  come  in  to 
see  you  one  of  these  days.  Would  have 
come  in  before,  but  was  so  busy."  Of 
course,  I  knew  he  wasn't  feeling  very  well, 
or  even  quite  well.  "And  how  is  Lilith?" 
70 


THEY  WAITED  TOO  LONG 

"Oh,  she  is  fine.  I'll  bring  her  in,  too." 
Poor  boy,  I  thought.  Tho  he  wasn't  a  boy 
now — he  was  29 — his  first  boyish  appear 
ance  at  the  masquerade  ball  impressed 
itself  so  upon  my  mind,  that  I  always 
thought  of  him  as  a  boy.  And  he  was  so 
thin  that  unless  his  facial  lines  were 
closely  examined,  he  did  look  more  boyish 
than  ever. 

In  two  or  three  weeks  they  made  their 
appearance  at  my  office.  Where  was  the 
Lilith  of  yore?  I  was  shocked  when  I  saw 
her.  She  was  anemic,  her  face  was 
sprinkled  here  and  there  with  quite  a  few 
pimples  and  comedones,  her  former  prom' 
inent  and  graceful  bust  was  decidedly  flat, 
and  she  was  just  a  bit  stoop-shouldered, 
"Crow's  feet"  were  unmistakable,  and 
there  was  no  joy  and  no  laughter  in  her 
formerly  bright  and  laughing  eyes.  And 
her  hair,  her  formerly  magnificent  abun 
dance  of  blonde  hair?  There  was  no  ex 
pression,  no  life  in  it.  You  didn't  know 
71 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  life  and  ex 
pression  to  hair?  But  there  is.  And  by 
the  appearance  of  the  hair  alone,  we  can 
sometimes  judge  of  the  person's  health 
and  mood.  There  was  no  life,  no  lustre  to 
it,  it  looked  like  dead  flax,  like  hair  that 
had  been  long  subjected  to  the  blighting 
influence  of  peroxide.  She  certainly  made 
the  impression  of  a  formerly  beautiful  but 
wilted  rose ;  or  perhaps  the  simile  of  a  lily 
would  be  more  appropriate.  But  one  who 
understands  could  see  that  the  wilting  was 
not  yet  permanent,  irremediable.  One 
who  understands  could  see  that  it  needed 
but  the  vivifying  influence  of  love,  love  in 
its  full  meaning,  and  not  only  in  its  pla- 
tonic  manifestations — to  raise  her  droop 
ing  head,  to  put  life  in  her  eye  and  lustre 
in  her  hair,  to  fill  out  her  bust  and 
straighten  out  her  spinal  column. 

I  thought  it  was  time  to  speak  to  them 
plainly,  and  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  do  so. 
I  told  them  that  long  engagements  be- 
72 


THEY  WAITED  TOO  LONG 

tween  two  loving  people  were  injurious, 
sometimes  terribly  and  permanently  in 
jurious.  To  suggest  anything  irregular 
to  such  strictly  brought  up  church  mem 
bers — she  never  missed  a  Sunday  service, 
and  he  but  very  seldom — would  have  been 
foolish  and  wicked.  But  I  insisted  that 
for  the  sake  of  their  health  they  ought  to 
get  married.  If  they  could  not  get  married 
regularly,  i.e.,  have  a  public  church  wed 
ding  and  then  go  and  keep  house,  let  them 
get  married  quietly  in  City  Hall,  let  them 
remain  in  their  respective  parents'  homes, 
but  meet  occasionally.  As  the  marriage 
would  be  no  secret  to  the  parents,  they 
could  meet  frequently  without  difficulty. 
Or  they  could  both  live  in  his  or  even  in  her 
parents'  home.  Or  they  could  get  a  room  in 
a  modest  boarding  house.  But  to  none 
of  these  propositions  would  either  of  them, 
she  particularly,  assent.  No,  when  they 
do  get  married,  it  must  be  in  the  regular 
established  fashion.  They  must  have  a 
73 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

big  wedding,  and  they  must  be  able  to  fur 
nish  a  nice  flat  and  keep  a  girl.  But  they 
were  sure  that  before  the  year  was  over, 
they  would  get  married.  Things  seemed 
to  be  going  his  way,  and  he  was  sure  that 
in  less  than  six  or  eight  months,  etc.  "But 
you  are  losing  the  best  years  of  your 
lives,"  I  could  not  help  interjecting.  But 
they  did  not  see  things  in  my  light.  Or, 
perhaps,  deeply  in  their  souls  they  did,  but 
they  were  indissolubly  bound  by  the  fet 
ters  of  convention  and  the  shackles  of  cus 
tom.  "What  fools  these  mortals  be," 
thought  I,  prescribed  them  some  tonics 
and  dismissed  them  from  my  office  and  my 
mind. 

For  seven  years  I  saw  nothing  of  Ros- 
bert  or  Lilith.  I  heard  that  he  had  gone 
West  to  try  his  fortune,  and  that  they  re 
mained  true  and  faithful  to  each  other. 
Her  parents  were  getting  tired  of  the 
eternal  delays  and  began  to  urge  her  to 
break  up  the  unfortunate  engagement. 
74 


THEY  WAITED  TOO  LONG 

There  was  a  wealthy  middle-aged  man 
who  was  anxious  to  marry  Lilith.  For 
while  her  physical  charms  were  going,  her 
spiritual  charms,  her  tact,  her  delicacy  of 
manner,  were  unimpaired.  But  Lilith 
would  hear  nothing  of  it.  The  greater  the 
pressure  brought  to  bear  upon  her,  the 
stronger  was  her  determination  to  remain 
loyal  to  poor  Rosbert  who  had  had  such  a 
hard  time  of  it.  Luck  seemed  to  be 
against  him.  Just  because  he  was  so 
anxious  to  make  money  for  the  sake  of 
Lilith,  things  would  go  wrong.  He  would 
break  down  and  be  unable  to  bring  matters 
to  a  satisfactory  conclusion  at  the  critical 
moment. 

One  morning,  not  long  ago,  a  little 
shriveled  old  lady  was  ushered  into  my  of 
fice.  I  didn't  know  her,  and  asked  her  her 
name  and  what  I  could  do  for  her.  With 
a  painful  smile  she  told  me  that  she  was 
Lilith.  I  have  always  been  very  bad  at 
recognizing  faces,  and  try  as  I  might  I 
75 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

could  find  no  trace  of  resemblance  to  the 
Lilith  I  knew.  "Rosbert's  Lilith?" 
"Yes,  Rosbert's  Lilith.  Why,  have  I 
changed  so  much?"  I  had  to  tell  her  that 
she  had.  It  is  very  fortunate  that  people 
are  as  a  rule  themselves  not  fully  aware  of 
the  changes  in  their  appearance.  If  they 
were  they  would  suffer  too  much.  A  few 
hypersensitive  natures  are  aware  of  the 
ravages  of  time  and  disease  and  they  do 
suffer  cruelly.  Lilith  was  now  thirty-five 
or  six,  but  she  looked  decidedly  as  if  she 
were  between  forty-five  and  fifty,  and  in 
height  she  seemed  to  have  dwindled  down 
to  one  half.  Brunettes  wear  much  better 
than  blondes.  When  blondes  begin  to  go, 
they  go  very  rapidly.  A  "squeezed  and 
dried  lemon"  is  a  vulgar  expression,  but 
no  more  fitting  expression  could  be  found 
to  describe  Lilith.  She  looked  as  if  she 
had  been  taken,  run  thru  a  press,  all  the 
juices  squeezed  out  of  her  and  then  al 
lowed  to  dry  and  wilt. 
76 


THEY  WAITED  TOO  LONG 

My  heart  ached  for  this  poor  victim  of 
our  stup(id  social  system — or  shall  we  say 
victim  of  her  own  stupidity? 

She  told  me  that  they  had  definitely  de 
cided  to  get  married  in  two  months.  Ros- 
bert  was  settling  up  his  affairs  in  the 
West,  and  was  expecting  to  be  back  in 
New  York  in  about  a  month.  No,  he 
hasn't  made  very  much  money,  but  still  he 
has  made  some  and  they  decided  to  live  in 
poverty,  if  necessary,  rather  than  to  go  on 
living  the  way  they  have.  "I  wish  we  had 
taken  your  advice,  which  you  gave  us 
eight  or  ten  years  ago,"  said  she,  while  a 
disobedient  tear  was  running  down  her 
cheek.  What  she  came  to  see  me  about 
was  to  get  a  prescription  for  Rosbert.  He 
had  written  to  her  to  see  me  and  get  a  cer 
tain  prescription  which  always  used  to 
help  him,  to  have  it  made  up  here  and  mail 
it  to  him,  as  he  had  no  confidence  in  the 
small  Western  drug  stores.  I  gave  her 
the  prescription. 

77 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

Five  or  six  weeks  later  Rosbert  made  his 
appearance  at  my  office.  He  was  alone. 
He  looked  wretched — haggard  and  de 
pressed.  Now  that  everything  was  set 
tled,  that  the  marriage  announcements 
were  sent  out,  he  came  to  ask  me  if  he  had 
a  right  to  get  married.  Between  seven 
teen  and  nineteen  he  lived  like  most  other 
boys  do, — luckily  he  contracted  no  disease 
of  any  kind, — but  since  he  fell  in  love  with 
Lilith  he  had  led  a  strictly  virtuous  life. 
He  didn't  like  to  speak  about  it,  but  dur 
ing  the  last  few  years  he  noticed  certain 
symptoms  which  made  him  fear  that  he 
was  not  perhaps  quite  fit  to  get  married. 

I  examined  him  and  found  that  he  was 
utterly  unfit  to  get  married.  What  was 
to  be  done?  To  recall  the  marriage  an 
nouncements,  after  an  engagement  which 
was  becoming  a  joke  on  account  of  its  long 
duration?  That  was  out  of  the  question. 
And  besides  to  delay  the  wedding,  in 
order  to  undergo  treatment,  delay  it  for 
78 


THEY  WAITED  TOO  LONG 

how  long?  Treatment  would  have  to  be 
continued  for  many  months,  and  even  then 
it  might  be  of  no  value  on  account  of  the 
long  standing  of  the  complaint.  To  break 
it  off  altogether?  Perhaps  this  would  be 
the  best,  but  the  chagrin  and  disgrace 
would  surely  break  Lilith's  heart.  After 
she  has  sacrificed  her  youth,  after  she  has 
become  an  old  woman  waiting  for  him,  to 
remain  alone  in  the  world!  For  now  she 
could  hardly  expect  to  make  another 
match. 

The  decision  we  arrived  at  was  that  to 
Lilith  was  to  be  explained  the  exact  state 
of  affairs  and  that  the  decision  was  to  be 
left  in  her  hands.  I  was  to  break  the  news 
to  her.  Her  bitter  smile  was  painful  to 
behold,  but  her  decision  was  what  I  ex 
pected.  She  certainly  could  not  be  worse 
off  than  she  was  now ;  she  will  have  at  least 
Rosbert's  constant  companionship,  and  she 
will  not  be  an  object  of  pity  and  a  butt 
of  ridicule  among  her  girl  friends.  And 
79 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

so  the  marriage  will  take  place  at  the  an 
nounced  date.  But  there  is  no  joy  in  the 
face  and  no  hope  in  the  heart  of  either 
Rosbert  or  Lilith. 

They  were  married  three  months  ago. 
They  live  peacefully  and  harmoniously, 
but  there  is  no  joy  in  the  face  and  no  hope 
in  the  heart  of  either  Lilith  or  Rosbert. 


80 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 


QJa 
A.  Jaroht,  MM., 

A  GOOD  MAN,  A  GOOD  PHYSICIAN  AND  A  GOOD 
FRIEND.  MAY  THE  YEARS  CONTINUE  TO  SIT 
LIGHTLY  ON  YOUR  SHOULDERS. 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

had  just  left  the  incomparable 
Bay  of  Naples.  The  thousands 
of  lights  from  the  city,  from  the 
Castel  Nuovo,  from  the  Posilipo,  were 
mingled  with  the  millions  of  lights  on  the 
clear,  cloudless  sky  above.  The  Medi 
terranean  was  lying  like  a  bright  freshly 
polished  mirror  before  us,  and  Vesuvius 
smoked  in  the  distance.  If  there  was  any 
one  on  board  into  whose  soul  this  glorious 
night  and  enchanting  environment  did  not 
cause  a  flow  of  peace  and  good  will,  that 
man  must  have  had  a  very  bad  conscience 
indeed. 

The  after-dinner  parade  had  ceased 
and  all  was  quiet,  comparatively  quiet,  on 
deck.  Our  little  group  had  as  usual  as 
sembled  on  the  bench  behind  the  smoking 
room,  and  we  were  exchanging  desultory 
83 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

remarks  about  the  enjoyable  day  we  had 
spent  in  Pompeii.  The  real  discussion 
was  to  come  later.  Oh,  we  were  discuss 
ing  things  all  day  and  late  into  the  night. 
We  were  dubbed  by  the  other  passengers 
"The  Ocean  Debating  Club."  The  per 
sonnel  of  our  group  was  a  rather  inter 
esting  one.  It  consisted  of  Dr.  William 
Bonner,  a  well-known  German  physician, 
whose  great  pride  was  his  participation 
in  the  revolution  of  1848;  Father  Clancy, 
a  learned  Jesuit,  a  remarkable  linguist, 
who  in  spite  of  his  strict  and  sincere  ad 
herence  to  the  teachings  of  the  church, 
was  broad-minded  enuf  to  enjoy  listening 
to  Dr.  Bonner's  infidel  and  revolutionary 
arguments.  I  have  a  suspicion  that  be 
fore  going  to  bed  the  good  father  prayed 
for  the  sturdy  old  doctor's  soul.  The 
third  member  of  our  party  was  Giacomo 
D'Annunzio,  a  cousin  of  the  writer,  him 
self  an  artist  and  a  voracious  reader;  and 
the  last,  and  least,  was  myself.  Tho  the 
84 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

acquaintance  was  made  on  board  the  ship 
only  nine  days  previously,  it  had  quickly 
ripened  into  a  real  friendship.  You  see, 
we  were  about  the  only  four  "real"  intel 
lectuals  on  board.  As  to  the  other  pas 
sengers,  why,  the  males  spent  their  time 
playing  penuchle  or  poker,  smoking  and 
drinking,  while  the  females  were  playing 
whist  or  cultivating  their  minds  with  the 
six  best  sellers. 

As  the  members  of  our  group  found  one 
another's  company  all  sufficient  we  rather 
kept  aloof  from  our  fellow  passengers, 
and  they  let  us  alone.  And  we  discussed 
things.  How  we  discussed!  Time  we  had 
a-plenty.  There  was  not  a  moral,  ethical 
or  sociologic  question  that  was  not  passed 
by  us  in  review.  The  subject  on  the  tapis 
for  that  night  was  the  important  and  in 
teresting  question:  Is  morality  an  ab 
solute  entity,  or  does  the  standard  of  mo 
rality  change  with  the  times,  with  the 
country,  with  circumstances?  Or,  as 
85 


D'Annunzio  put  it,  can  an  action  which  is 
universally  considered  wrong  and  im 
moral  become  right  and  moral  under  cer 
tain  circumstances? 

Dr.  Bonner,  D'Annunzio  and  myself 
naturally  took  the  affirmative,  while 
Father  Clancy,  who,  by  the  way,  stoutly 
denounced  as  false  the  generally  current 
opinion  that  the  Jesuits  ever  said  that  the 
end  justified  the  means,  stood  unequivo 
cally  on  the  negative  side.  D'Annunzio 
who  had  visited  Russia  and  witnessed 
the  horrors  committed  by  the  Russian  of 
ficials,  maintained  that  even  murder  at 
times  became  justifiable.  He  gave  in 
stances  of  some  governors  of  provinces 
and  some  police  officials  who  spread  death 
and  desolation  wherever  they  went,  who 
were  proved  guilty  of  inciting  massacres 
of  innocent  people,  who  perpetrated  in 
describable  cruelties  on  male  and  female 
political  prisoners,  and  to  assassinate  such 
brutes — who  are  probably  insane  or  they 
86 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

would  not  be  so  cruel — maintained  D'An- 
nunzio,  was  not  only  justifiable,  but  was 
a  duty  incumbent  upon  every  intelligent 
citizen.  Father  Clancy  was  shocked  at 
such  a  horrid  doctrine.  "No,  murder  is 
murder,  no  matter  by  whom  or  for  what 
purpose  perpetrated.  And  he  who  kills 
a  Russian  official,  tho  the  purpose  is  no 
ble,  I  will  not  deny  that,  is  in  the  eyes  of 
God  as  much  of  a  murderer  as  he  who 
kills  for  plunder." 

And  then  the  discussion  grew  more  ani 
mated  than  ever.  Examples  were  given 
by  the  score,  but  Father  Clancy  would 
not  budge.  Dr.  Bonner,  who,  in  spite  of 
his  eighty  years,  was  a  passionate  debater, 
was  unusually  quiet  this  evening.  And  I 
also  was  a  quiet  listener.  Father  Clancy 
and  D'Annunzio  were  the  combatants  in 
this  evening's  tournament,  and  we  looked 
on  and  listened. 

"But  don't  you  admit  that  under  some 
circumstances  a  lie  may  become  permissi- 
87 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

ble?  Don't  you  admit  that  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  a  white  lie?" 

"No,  amico  mio,  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  a  white  lie.  All  lies  are  black." 

At  these  words  Dr.  Bonner  stirred  in 
his  chair,  removed  his  cigar  from  his  lips, 
threw  it  overboard,  looked  at  his  watch, 
and  said: 

"If  it  were  not  near  eleven  I  would  per 
haps  tell  you  a  little  story.  But  it  is  too 
late.  You  may  want  to  go  to  your  state 
rooms.  And  then  I  am  afraid  I  might 
bore  you." 

Of  course  we  objected  to  any  such 
supposition  and  we  begged  the  doctor  to 
tell  us  his  story.  We  promised  to  be  in 
terested  and  not  to  feel  sleepy,  even  if  the 
telling  of  the  story  took  until  morning. 
The  doctor  remained  silent  for  a  while, 
lost  in  memories.  We  did  not  disturb 
him.  At  last  he  commenced,  in  his  low, 
even  voice : 

"It  is  sixty  years  since  the  drama  I  am 
88 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

going  to  relate  to  you  took  place.  We 
are  now  in  the  year  1908,  and  this  took 
place  in  1848,  in  the  unforgettable  1848, 
when  every  people  on  the  European  con 
tinent,  big  or  little,  seemed  to  feel  a  whiff 
of  freedom,  and  began  to  straighten  its 
back  and  pull  at  its  chains,  in  the  hope  of 
freeing  itself  from  its  centuries-old  fet 
ters.  The  people !  When  I  say  the  peo 
ple,  I  mean  a  few  noble  and  self-sacri 
ficing  spirits,  for  the  people  is  inert,  and 
the  freedom,  for  which  its  best  sons  die, 
has  to  be  rammed  down  its  throat.  But 
for  the  noble  leaders,  the  people  would 
never  advance — they  would  be  now  where 
they  were  three  thousand  years  ago.  The 
revolution  of  1848  penetrated,  I  said, 
every  country  of  Europe — every  country, 
that  is,  except  Russia.  But  then  Russia 
really  belongs  to  Asia,  and  not  to  Europe. 
In  Russian  Poland,  however,  there  was 
a  slight  ripple.  The  patriotic  Poles 
thought  that  the  time  had  come  to  throw 
89 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

off  the  Russian  yoke,  and  to  establish  a 
constitutional  monarchy.  And  dearly 
they  had  to  pay  for  their  rashness.  The 
butcher  Nicholas,  who  was  at  that  time 
gracing  the  Russian  throne,  gave  orders 
to  repress  the  rebellion  without  delay  and 
without  mercy;  all  Poland  was  put  un 
der  martial  law  and  the  governor  and 
military  commanders  were  given  carte 
blanche  to  do  as  they  pleased  with  the 
Polish  people.  Blood  was  running  freely 
and  thousands  of  innocent  men  and  women 
—boys  and  girls — were  thrown  into  dun 
geons,  knouted  unmercifully  to  extort 
confessions  and  then  hanged  or  shot  in 
bunches. 

"The  leader  of  the  revolution  in  War 
saw  was  a  young  doctor,  Arnold  Bruno. 
I  knew  him  well  and  we  were  intimate 
friends,  tho  I  was  only  a  youth  of  twenty, 
while  he  was  thirty-two.  He  belonged  to 
the  richest  and  most  aristocratic  family  in 
the  town:  he  enjoyed  universal  love  and 
90 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

esteem,  for  the  kindness  of  his  heart  knew 
no  bounds.  Not  only  would  he  never 
charge  anything  to  the  poor — there  are 
many  doctors  who  always  treat  the  poor 
free — but  he  would  always  furnish  from 
his  pocket  the  medicine,  wine,  food,  and 
would  pay  for  a  nurse  whenever  required. 
He  could  afford  it,  and  he  loved  the  poor ; 
he  loved  humanity  at  large.  Once  in  a 
while  nature  does  bring  forth  a  human  be 
ing  that  loves  its  fellow  human  beings 
deeply,  sincerely,  without  expecting  a 
monument  for  it,  without  a  desire  to  get 
into  the  newspapers.  And  as  said,  his 
love  for  his  fellowmen  was  reciprocated. 
And  when  he  married  the  beautiful,  noble 
and  high-minded  actress  Selma,  Selma 
who,  tho  but  two  years  on  the  stage,  was 
pronounced  the  greatest  actress  that  the 
world  had  produced,  the  whole  city  sent 
congratulations.  It  was  a  love  match,  of 
course,  and  a  more  loving  couple  the  world 
has  never  seen.  They  were  completely 
91 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

wrapped  up  in  each  other,  and  they  lived 
and  breathed  for  each  other.  Life  to  one 
without  the  other  seemed  unimaginable. 
For  five  years  they  lived  a  life  of  perfect 
bliss,  of  unmarred  happiness.  And  no 
body  begrudged  them  their  happiness. 
Nobody,  except  Muravin,  the  brutal,  de 
generate,  merciless  governor  of  the  prov 
ince.  His  face  would  assume  a  purple 
color,  his  eyes  get  bloodshot  and  the  tem 
poral  arteries  pulsate  violently,  when  he 
passed  the  Brunos  on  foot  or  in  their  car 
riage.  For  he  had  a  violent  passion  for 
Selma,  and  when  she  was  on  the  stage  he 
made  persistent  advances  to  her.  She 
repulsed  the  brute  indignantly  and  threat 
ened  to  call  for  aid,  if  he  ever  approached 
her  again.  He  kept  away,  but  his  pas 
sion  was  not  quenched.  On  the  contrary. 
And  when  the  marriage  of  Selma  to  Ar 
nold  Bruno  took  place  he  was  near  apo 
plexy.  And  he  hated  Bruno  with  a  ha 
tred  of  which  only  such  beasts  are  capa- 
92 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

ble.  Pardon  me  for  using  such  harsh 
words,  but  I  cannot  speak  calmly  of  that 
man.  Sixty  years  have  passed,  and  my 
blood  still  boils  when  I  think  of  him— 
and  I  remember  his  brutal  face,  as  if  I 
had  seen  him  yesterday.  He  hated  the 
Brunos,  but  he  had  no  opportunity  to 
wreak  his  vengeance  on  them.  The  revo 
lution  afforded  Muravin  such  an  oppor 
tunity,  and  he  availed  himself  of  it  with 
fiendish  glee. 

"When  the  news  of  the  uprisings  in 
France,  Germany,  Austria,  Hungary, 
etc.,  reached  Poland,  the  people  became 
restive.  Cruelly  suffering  under  the 
brutal  Russian  yoke,  they  decided  to  break 
the  hateful  chain — or  to  die  in  the  at 
tempt.  Bruno  was  doubtful  as  to  the  out 
come  of  the  conflict,  but  he  threw  himself 
into  it  with  heart  and  soul.  He  could 
not  stand  the  poverty  and  the  suffering 
of  his  people,  and  he  thought  the  attempt 
was  worth  while.  He  belonged  to  those 
93 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

who  believe  an  unsuccessful  rebellion  bet 
ter  than  no  rebellion  at  all.  He  gave  all 
he  possessed  to  the  cause,  and  he  worked 
for  it,  literally,  day  and  night.  Public 
speeches,  committee  meetings,  war  coun 
cils,  kept  him  away  from  home  most  of 
the  time.  Selma  saw  very  little  of  him 
those  days.  Her  heart  was  breaking,  but 
every  morning  when  bidding  him  good-bye 
she  blessed  him  with  an  encouraging 
smile.  Noblesse  oblige.  The  fate  of  a 
people  is  more  important  than  our  per 
sonal  happiness,  and  so  she  did  not  inter 
fere,  but  helped  him  in  his  work.  And 
when  he  was  gone,  she  cried  in  despair, 
for  she  knew  the  end.  I  found  her  crying 
many  times.  But  if  Bruno's  steps  were 
heard,  her  face  would  change  at  once,  and 
I  doubt  if  he  ever  suspected  what  she  was 
going  thru. 

"The  'revolution'  was  over.    Thousands 
of  people  were  brutally  massacred,  hun- 
94 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

dreds  of  women  were  outraged  by  the 
drunken  soldiers,  who  were  expressly 
given  license  to  do  as  they  pleased,  and 
the  leaders  were  in  hiding  or  in  prison. 
Arnold  Bruno  was  in  prison. 

"Let  me  quickly  pass  over  the  scene  of 
the  arrest.  I  was  in  the  house  at  the 
time.  I  shall  never  forget  the  sudden 
awakening  by  the  violent  knock  at  the 
door,  the  sullen  faces  of  the  soldiers  and 
the  fiendish  expression  of  Muravin,  who 
conducted  the  arrest  in  person.  The  an 
guish  on  the  face  of  Selma  when  the  hand 
cuffs  were  put  on  Arnold  was  something 
fearful  to  behold  and— 

Here  Dr.  Bonner  broke  off.  It  was 
apparently  hard  for  him  to  continue. 
We  remained  in  respectful,  subdued  si 
lence.  After  a  moment  Dr.  Bonner  col 
lected  himself  sufficiently  to  be  able  to 
proceed.  He  continued: 

"Yes,  it  was  something  terrible  to  be 
hold  and  if  I  live  another  eighty  years  I 
95 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

shall  not  forget.  It  pierced  me  thru  the 
heart  like  a  knife.  But  Arnold  did  not  be 
hold  it.  For  when  she  threw  her  arms 
around  his  neck  to  bid  him  adieu,  her  face 
was  calm  and  even  cheerful,  and  she  told 
him  not  to  lose  courage,  not  to  feel  de 
spondent,  that  everything  would  be  all 
right,  that  she  would  at  once  appeal  to  his 
and  her  influential  friends  and  relatives, 
that  within  a  few  days  he  would  be  free. 

"After  a  farcical  trial  by  the  court-mar 
tial,  Arnold  was  condemned  to  death. 
Everything  possible  wTas  done  to  stop  the 
execution  of  the  sentence.  Money  was 
spent  freely  by  Arnold's  parents  and  re 
lations,  but  all  in  vain.  Muravin  had  rep 
resented  Arnold  to  the  higher  authorities 
as  the  ringleader  of  the  rebellion,  as  one 
who  always  sowed  discontent  and  disre 
spect  for  the  powers  that  be,  and  inti 
mated  that  his  position  would  become  un 
tenable,  if  Bruno  were  pardoned,  or  even 
if  his  sentence  were  commuted.  An  ex- 
96 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

ample  had  to  be  made.  Poor  Selma  suf 
fered  atrociously,  but  very  little  of  what 
she  was  going  thru  could  Arnold  notice 
during  the  brief  visits  which  she  was  al 
lowed  to  make  to  him  twice  a  week,  under 
the  argus  eyes  of  the  two  gendarmes. 

"Imbued  with  the  old  superstition  that 
the  czar  or  king  or  emperor  is  less  cruel 
than  his  minions — as  if  the  latter  were  not 
mere  tools  executing  the  distinct  or  im 
plied  orders  and  wishes  of  the  former- 
she  journeyed  to  St.  Petersburg,  and  after 
endless  trouble,  after  endless  humiliations, 
she  was  admitted  to  the  czar's  august 
presence.  A  look  at  his  brutish  face  con 
vinced  her,  as  she  told  me,  that  her  mission 
was  in  vain.  But  she  laid  the  case  before 
him,  pleaded  with  all  her  heart  and  art. 
He  listened  coldly.  "No  rebellion  can  be 
tolerated  in  my  domain,  and  no  mercy 
can  be  shown  to  revolutionists."  And  he 
indicated  that  the  audience  was  over. 
She  left  the  winter  palace  as  if  in  a  dream, 
97 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

and  she  preserved  but  a  confused  memory 
of  how  she  reached  Warsaw.  She  was 
unrecognizable  when  she  reached  home. 
Again,  I  must  say,  if  I  were  to  live  an 
other  eighty  years  I  would  not  forget  her 
face.  Such  anguish  and  despair  I  have 
not  seen  since,  neither  on  a  living  human 
face  nor  on  a  picture.  Why  wasn't  a 
painter  there  to  depict  and  eternalize  this 
acme  of  human  anguish  and  misery! 

"But  she  knew  she  had  to  see  Arnold 
the  following  day  and — the  will  power  of 
that  girl  (she  was  only  twenty-five  at  the 
time)  was  marvelous — she  at  once  began 
to  pull  herself  together.  The  next  day, 
tho  pale  and  weak,  she  appeared  calm.  I 
accompanied  her  that  day  to  the  prison. 
When  the  door  of  the  miserable  dark  cell 
opened,  her  face — I  watched  her  closely — 
assumed  a  cheerful  expression,  and  I  am 
sure  Arnold  had  no  suspicion  of  what  she 
was  going  thru. 

"What  did  she  tell  Arnold?  She  told 
98 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

him  a  lie,  Father  Clancy,  a  deliberate  lie. 
This  lie,  however,  sinks  into  insignificance 
in  comparison  with  the  much  bigger  lie 
which  she  told  him  a  few  days  later.  To 
return.  She  told  Arnold  that  the  em 
peror  received  her  graciously,  said  he 
would  give  the  matter  his  personal  atten 
tion,  and  while  he  did  not  commit  himself, 
he  gave  her  to  understand  that  she  had 
nothing  to  fear,  and  'tell  your  husband 
to  hope  for  the  best.' 

"This  pious  lie  had  a  cheering,  vivifying 
effect  on  Arnold.  He  needed  it.  For  a 
great  change  had  taken  place  in  him.  I 
see  I  have  not  mentioned  it  until  now. 
Yes,  a  great  change.  His  spirit  was 
completely  broken.  He  was  going  thru 
a  period  which  comes  into  the  life  of  every 
reformer  and  revolutionist,  except  per 
haps  the  most  exalted  fanatic,  when  he  be 
gins  to  ask  himself:  Was  it  or  is  it  worth 
while?  Is  the  game  worth  the  candle? 
He  needn't  go  so  far  as  to  ask:  Are  the 
99 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

'people'  worth  the  sacrifice,  is  it  worth 
while  that  I  should  give  away  my  life  for 
them?  He  needn't  go  so  far,  I  say,  to 
feel  in  despair.  Let  him  only  begin  to 
ask :  Is  my  way  the  right  way,  is  revolu 
tion  or  violent  reform  really  the  best 
method  to  advance,  and  to  increase  the 
happiness  of  humanity?  and  he  is  in  great 
danger  of  falling  into  the  slough  of  de 
spondency.  And  Arnold  did  ask  himself 
these  questions,  as  Selma  could  notice 
from  her  brief  interviews  with  him. 
When  he  saw,  he  said,  that  the  very  best 
men  in  the  country,  the  most  intellectual 
and  the  most  kind-hearted  were  in  exile, 
in  the  Siberian  mines,  in  subterranean 
dungeons,  shot  or  hanged,  then  he  thought 
that  the  sacrifice  was  too  great,  that  the 
method  of  warfare  was  a  wrong  one,  and 
that  the  people  were  not  only  temporarily 
but  ultimately  the  losers  thereby.  No 
nation  can  far  advance  whose  men  and 
women  of  the  highest  type  are  systemat- 
100 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

ically  weeded  out,  either  by  killing  them 
outright  or  by  slow  torture  in  prisons. 

"And  so  Arnold  doubted  whether  he  did 
right  in  participating  in  the  revolution, 
and  these  doubts  increased  his  suffering. 
And  besides  he  became  imbued  with  a  ter 
rible  desire  to  live.  Many  people,  not 
only  thousands,  but  millions  of  them, 
think  they  do  not  care  for  life  particu 
larly.  But  as  soon  as  they  get  seriously 
ill,  or  when  they  feel  the  approach  of 
death,  every  fiber  of  their  body  and  soul 
begins  to  quiver,  and  they  begin  to  hold 
on  to  life  with  a  passion  and  despair  which 
excite  the  deepest  pity  in  friends  and  rela 
tives.  With  every  fiber  of  his  strong, 
healthy  being  Arnold  revolted  against  the 
thought  of  death.  The  solitary  confine 
ment  had  a  terrible  effect  on  him.  For 
bidden  to  see  a  living  being,  except  his 
wife  for  a  few  minutes  twice  a  week  un 
der  the  eyes  of  soldiers,  forbidden  to  read 
or  to  write,  or  do  anything  at  all,  Arnold 
101 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

suffered  tortures,  and  these  sufferings 
affected  his  character  as  well  as  his  hody. 
He  became  very  irritable.  And  he  once 
told  Selma  that  he  feared  she  was  not  do 
ing  all  that  was  possible  in  order  to  save 
him.  What  Selma  felt  at  these  words 
can  be  better  imagined  than  described. 
But  not  a  syllable  of  reproach  did  she  ut 
ter.  She  felt  instinctively  that  it  was  his 
intense  love  for  her — a  love  and  a  passion, 
that  could  now  find  no  exit,  no  safety 
valve — that  made  the  imprisonment  so 
much  harder  for  him,  that  made  the 
thought  of  death  such  a  torture  to  him. 
She  assured  him  that  everything  possible 
was  done  and  that  she  hoped  to  receive 
soon  good  news  from  the  emperor. 

"And  then  Selma — poor  Selma! — de 
cided  upon  a  desperate  step.  She  de 
cided  to  go  and  see  Muravin  personally. 
She  knew  it  was  a  terribly  dangerous  step 
and  she  had  very,  very  little  hope  of  ac 
complishing  anything — but  if  there  had 
102 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

been  one  chance  in  a  million  to  save  Ar 
nold,  and  if  she  had  to  pay  with  her  life 
for  that  chance,  she  would  have  paid  it 
gladly.  Some  of  you  may  consider  such 
a  love  pathologic,  abnormal:  but  the 
deepest  depths  of  love  that  a  woman  is 
capable  of  for  a  man,  especially  if  the 
man  is  suffering  and  unhappy,  have  not 
been  explored  yet,  and  until  this  is  done 
we  have  no  right  to  designate  any  kind 
of  love  as  abnormal  or  pathologic. 

"Selma  wrote  Muravin  asking  for  a 
private  interview.  The  answer  came 
promptly,  making  the  appointment  late 
for  the  evening  of  the  following  day.  He 
was  too  busy  to  see  her  on  official  business 
in  the  daytime,  he  said.  Selma  hesitated 
to  go,  and  trembled  as  she  went,  but  go 
she  did.  When  she  was  shown  into  his 
somber,  prison-like  office,  when  she  saw 
the  peculiar  brutish  passion-distorted  ex 
pression  on  Muravin's  face,  she  wanted  to 
go  back.  But  it  was  too  late.  The  door 
103 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

was  locked  behind  her.  She  began  to 
plead  for  Arnold's  life ;  he  listened  with  a 
cruel  sneer;  she  pleaded  and  pleaded;  he 
only  sneered.  It  seemed  to  him  a  huge 
joke.  She  finally  threw  herself  at  his 
feet,  and  this,  instead  of  softening  the 
brute,  threw  him  into  a  fit  of  frenzy.  His 
physical  strength  was  proverbial.  .  .  . 
"In  an  hour,  Selma,  outraged,  utterly 
crushed  in  spirit  and  in  body,  was  shown 
out  of  the  room.  How  she  ever  reached 
home  was  a  marvel.  Her  will-power  was 
truly  superhuman.  But  as  soon  as  she 
reached  home  she  swooned  away,  and  it 
took  two  devoted  physicians  over  two 
hours  to  bring  her  to  consciousness.  But 
all  night  and  the  entire  following  day  she 
kept  on  fainting,  sobbing  and  shivering. 
It  was  pitiful  to  look  at  her.  She  seemed 
to  have  shrunk,  to  have  become  a  little 
child.  Every  few  minutes  a  convulsive 
spasm  would  go  thru  her  body,  she  would 
give  a  violent  start,  and  look  about  her 
104 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

with  large,  staring,  frightened  eyes.  The 
doctors  were  afraid  for  her  life  or  reason. 

"We  all  trembled.  But  she  pulled  her 
self  together. 

"'No.  I  must  not  die;  not  yet.  I 
must  see  Arnold  once  more.  And  I  have 
something  to  tell  to  Vladimir.'  I  haven't 
mentioned,  have  I,  that  Selma  had  a 
brother,  a  high-strung,  hot-headed  youth 
of  twenty,  who  loved  Selma  as  passion 
ately  as  a  lover,  and  who  would  have  been 
ready  at  any  time  to  make  any  sacrifice 
for  her. 

She  sent  for  Vladimir,  and  when  he 
came  in  she  asked  everybody  to  leave  the 
room.  She  whispered  something  to  him, 
whispered  it  so  low,  so  low  that  he  had 
difficulty  in  understanding  her.  But 
when  he  understood  he  trembled  from 
head  to  foot. 

'  'I  will  kill  the  scoundrel,  even  if  I  have 
to  forfeit  my  life  for  a  certainty.' 

:  'I  expect  you  to  do  it,  my  dear,'  she 
105 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

answered.  'It  is  a  mortal,  unpardonable 
sin  to  permit  such  a  monster  to  live.  He 
is  the  incarnation  of  everything  cruel  and 
wicked,  and  he  sows  misery  and  death 
wherever  he  goes.  But  you  must  not  at 
tempt  anything  now.  He  is  well  guarded 
now  and  he  is  constantly  on  the  lookout. 
Wait  a  year,  or  five  if  necessary,  only  you 
must  make  sure  that  when  you  strike  the 
blow,  you  do  not  miss  your  aim.' ' 

Dr.  Bonner  stopped  here.  The  narra 
tive  was  tiring  him,  and  toward  the  end 
the  pauses  were  becoming  longer  and  more 
frequent. 

As  we  were  waiting  for  the  doctor  to 
proceed,  Father  Clancy  murmured  more 
to  himself  than  to  us:  "Mustn't  take  the 
law  into  one's  own  hands.  Should  leave 
vengeance  to  God." 

A  spark  thrown  into  dynamite  could 
not  have  produced  a  more  violent  effect 
than  these  words  produced  on  Dr.  Bon 
ner.  The  change  was  instantaneous. 
106 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

We  did  not  recognize  him.  He  moved  to 
the  edge  of  the  chair,  sitting  up  erect, 
threw  away  his  cigar,  which  he  had  lit  a 
few  minutes  before,  and  proceeded  to  grill 
Father  Clancy  in  a  fashion  of  which  we 
did  not  consider  him  capable.  The  young 
revolutionist  of  sixty  years  ago  was  be 
fore  us.  I  wish  I  could  remember  his 
exact  words.  But  their  intent  is  per 
fectly  clear  to  me.  He  spoke  to  the  ef 
fect  that  this  teaching  about  leaving 
vengeance  to  God  has  been  Humanity's 
greatest  curse.  Every  tyrant,  every 
royal  oppressor,  every  official  murderer, 
has  had  the  aid  of  this  pernicious  doctrine, 
and  all  the  horrors  and  cruelties  perpe 
trated  by  officials  have  gone  unpunished 
on  account  of  it. 

"Your  church,  Father  Clancy,  as  well 
as  other  churches,  has  always  been  on  the 
side  of  oppression,  on  the  side  of  obscur 
ity,  on  the  side  of  tyranny.  Whenever  a 
king  or  a  pope  wanted  to  banish,  to  im- 
107 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

prison,  to  burn,  to  murder  individually, 
or  to  assassinate  by  wholesale,  your  church 
never  failed  to  give  its  sanction ;  but  when 
ever  an  exhausted  and  exasperated  peo 
ple  wanted  to  put  a  stop  to  the  official 
misdeeds,  wanted  to  rid  itself  of  a  mon 
strously  cruel  king  or  a  degenerate  em 
peror,  you  always  cried:  'You  must  not 
take  the  law  into  your  own  hands;  the 
king  is  a  sacred  person';  and  when  the 
royal  brutalities  were  too  clearly  apparent 
to  everybody,  you  played  your  last  card: 
Leave  vengeance  to  the  Lord.  The  non- 
resistance  doctrine  would  be  all  right 
if  everybody  were  guided  by  it.  But 
preached  as  it  has  been  for  twenty  cen 
turies  to  the  disinherited  and  downtrod 
den  only,  it  has  hindered  progress  terri 
bly.  Why,  without  that  enervating  doc 
trine  we  would  have  been  a  thousand  years 
further  advanced  than  we  are  now." 

And  in  this  strain  spoke  Dr.  Bonner 
for  a  long  time,  Father  Clancy  remain- 
108 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

ing  silent.  He  did  not  try  to  interrupt 
or  to  contradict  him.  After  a  little  while, 
Dr.  Bonner  got  up,  bade  us  good-night, 
and  was  about  to  retire  to  his  stateroom, 
but  we  were  all  deeply  interested;  we 
wanted  to  know  the  end  of  the  story  in 
which,  we  felt,  he  played  more  than  the 
role  of  a  mere  spectator,  and  we  implored 
him  to  stay  on  deck  and  tell  us  the  end. 
If  we  were  interested  in  Arnold's  fate,  we 
were  much  more  so  in  Selma's,  to  whom 
our  hearts  went  out  in  longing  sympathy. 
Dr.  Bonner  rested  a  while,  asked  for  a 
glass  of  Rhine  wine  and  resumed  the 
story : 

"Selma  could  not  have  slept  a  wink  that 
night.  There  was  a  frightful  pallor  on 
her  face,  her  eyes,  deep-sunken  and  large, 
shone  with  an  unearthly  splendor;  we 
could  see  that  she  was  at  the  highest 
point  of  nervous  tension.  We  feared  that 
something  would  soon  snap  in  her.  But 
she  prayed  for  a  little  more  strength,  a 
109 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

little  more  endurance.  Arnold's  execu 
tion  was  to  take  place  in  three  days,  and 
this  was  the  last  day  she  would  be  permit 
ted  to  see  her  husband. 

*  'I  still  have  one  duty  to  perform;  oh, 
for  the  strength  to  perform  it  properly, 
so  that  Arnold  notices  nothing. 
I  must,  I  must.     I  know  it  requires  su 
perhuman  strength,  but  I  must.' 

"And  swaying  to  an  fro  she  went  into 
her  room.  When  she  came  out  we  were 
shocked  at  the  change;  in  fact,  we  did  not 
recognize  her  at  the  first  moment.  She 
had  put  on  her  gayest  dress  and  hat,  she 
had  used  paint  and  powder  liberally  but 
skillfully,  and  she  looked  as  happy  and 
gay  a  creature  as  ever  she  did  before 
the  terrible  calamity  came  into  her  life. 
Only  a  most  experienced  observer  and 
psychologist  could  have  noticed  that  un 
der  this  calm  and  cheerful  exterior  a  storm 
was  brewing,  a  heart  was  breaking,  nerves 
were  snapping,  a  brain  was  reeling. 
110 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

"When  she  came  to  the  prison  she  found 
Arnold  in  the  deepest  despair;  he  looked 
weak,  shabby,  spiritless  and  anything 
but  the  picture  of  a  great  revolutionary 
leader.  Had  he  been  led  to  the  execution 
in  that  condition,  the  former  popular  hero 
would  have  fallen  greatly  in  popular  es 
timation.  Our  old  perverted  ideas  are 
more  particular  as  to  how  a  man  dies  than 
as  to  how  he  lives.  And  still  it  is  much 
easier  to  die  a  hero  than  to  live  like  one 
all  thru  one's  life. 

"But  Arnold  could  not  reconcile  himself 
to  the  thought  of  death.  And  it  was  this 
knowledge,  this  fear  that  her  Arnold 
would  disgrace  himself,  would  go  to  his 
untimely  death  like  a  coward,  that  helped 
her  to  go  thru  the  supreme  test.  She 
threw  herself  on  his  neck,  kissed  him  pas 
sionately  and  began  to  talk  to  him  in  a  low 
voice.  The  jailers,  who  knew  this  was 
the  last  interview,  showed  some  delicacy 
in  keeping  at  a  distance  and  permitting 
111 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

the  two  to  talk  without  interference. 
After  the  first  few  words  Arnold  bright 
ened  up,  life  came  into  his  eyes,  he 
stretched  his  legs  and  stood  up  erect — in 
short,  he  became  Arnold  of  the  former 
days.  The  interview  lasted  longer  than 
usual,  the  guards  became  impatient,  but 
with  a  smile  they  could  not  resist,  she 
begged  them  for  an  additional  half  hour, 
and  they  yielded.  The  time  for  the  final 
parting  came.  She  kissed  him  passion 
ately  and  her  last  words  were:  "So  re 
member,  dear,  courage  and  a  triumphant 
smile  on  your  face;  and  then  we  will 
be  together,  never  to  part  again."  He 
waved  her  a  cheerful  au  revoir,  and  in  a 
buoyant  high-spirited  mood  he  settled 
down  to  wait  for  the  day  of  his  execu 
tion,  which  was  to  be  his  day  of  deliver 
ance. 

"What  did  the  poor  girl  tell  him? 
What  strange  tale  did  Selma  whisper  in 
his  ear,  that  at  once  carried  him  from  deep 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

despair  to  hopeful  buoyancy?  I'll  tell 
you. 

"Poor  Selma  told  him  that  she  had  re 
ceived  that  morning  an  order  from  Mu- 
ravin  to  come  at  once.  That  when  she 
came,  he  was  most  kind  to  her  and  showed 
her  a  letter  from  the  emperor,  giving  Ar 
nold  a  full  pardon.  But  the  emperor 
wished  to  give  the  thing  an  impressive 
and  melodramatic  setting;  he  therefore 
gave  orders  that  the  pardon  should  re 
main  a  deep  secret;  that  the  preparation 
for  the  execution  should  be  proceeded 
with  in  the  usual  way,  and  only  just  be 
fore  giving  the  order  to  fire,  would  Gov 
ernor  Muravin  read  the  ukase  of  his  gra 
cious  and  merciful  Majesty,  bestowing 
the  full  pardon  upon  Arnold.  It  will 
have  a  better  effect  on  the  people  and  it 
will  help  considerably  in  pacifying  them. 

"Arnold  swallowed  the  whole  story. 
Everybody  else  in  his  place  would  have. 
Nobody  would  have  suspected  for  a  mil- 
113 


lionth  of  a  second  that  a  human  being 
would  be  capable  of  telling  such  a  lie  with 
out  betraying  himself  or  herself. 

"And,  by  the  way,  Father  Clancy,  do 
you  think  Selma  was  morally  justified  in 
telling  that  terrible — I  call  it  divinely 
sublime — lie?" 

But  Father  Clancy  refused  to  commit 
himself  this  time.  And  Dr.  Bonner  con 
tinued  : 

"Whatever  Father  Clancy  may  think  of 
the  morality  of  Selma's  act,  it  had  an  ex 
cellent  moral  effect  on  Arnold.  He  went 
to  the  execution — which  he  thought  would 
be  no  execution  at  all,  but  a  liberation — 
bravely,  smilingly.  There  was  a  spring 
to  his  walk,  and  he  carried  his  beautiful 
head  high  and  proudly.  The  admiration 
of  the  people  for  their  hero  was  greater 
than  ever  before,  and,  for  many  decades 
after,  the  people  talked  of  the  insouciance 
and  courage  with  which  Arnold  met  his 
death.  And  when  he  noticed  Selma  smil- 
114 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

ing  and  waving  to  him  with  her  handker 
chief,  he  smiled  back  and  waved  her  a 
kiss.  (On  account  of  his  high  social  po 
sition  he  was  permitted  to  meet  his  death 
standing  and  unbandaged.) 

"When  the  order  Fire!  was  given  and 
the  twelve  bullets  riddled  his  body,  an  ex 
pression  of  painful  surprise  seemed  to 
come  to  his  face.  But  death  was  instan 
taneous  and  he  sank  in  a  heap.  And  as 
Arnold  sank,  another  report  was  heard, 
and  poor,  noble  Selma  fell  dead,  shot  thru 
the  heart.  Poor  thing.  She  could  not,  she 
would  not  live  without  Arnold,  with  this 
last  horrible  scene,  which  was  made  a  thou 
sand  times  more  horrible  by  the  presence 
of  the  triumphantly  sneering  Muravin, 
constantly  haunting  her.  Peace  be  to  her 
dear,  sweet  soul.  Her  grave,  I  learn,  has 
been  kept  green  these  many  years,  and  is 
a  place  of  pilgrimage  for  the  romantic 
young  ladies  of  the  town. 

"What  else  is  there  to  tell?  Very  little. 
115 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

A  year  passed.  It  was  evening.  Muravin 
was  sitting  on  a  bench  in  a  public  park, 
listening  to  the  military  band.  Selma's 
brother,  dressed  like  a  foreigner — to  all 
intents  and  purposes  an  English  dandy- 
was  walking  to  and  fro  behind  the  bench. 
He  was  watching  for  a  signal.  As  he 
perceived  the  waving  of  a  handkerchief, 
he  turned  on  his  heel  and  in  the  fraction 
of  a  minute  he  was  behind  Muravin,  press 
ing  a  pistol  to  the  back  of  his  head.  In 
another  fraction  half  of  Muravin's  head 
was  blown  off.  A  tumult  arose,  but  Sel 
ma's  brother  was  gone,  the  carriage  that 
was  waiting  bearing  him  with  the  utmost 
speed  to  the  residence  of  a  friend." 

"What  became  of  him?"  we  asked. 

"In  another  week  he  crossed  the  frontier 
in  disguise  and  very  soon  we  find  him 
studying  medicine  in  Germany,  under  an 
assumed  name,  of  course.  After  his 
graduation  he  went  to  America,  where  he 
became  a  very  prominent  physician." 
116 


WAS  SELMA  JUSTIFIED? 

"Is  he  still  alive?"  we  inquired. 

"He  is  right  before  you,"  answered  Dr. 
Bonner. 

We  were  reverently  silent. 

And  the  steamer  glided  along  the 
smooth  aqueous  mirror,  and  the  golden 
stars  twinkled  as  if  they  were  asking: 
"Why,  why,  do  you  humans  cause  one 
another  so  much  misery?"  And  the  moon 
scattered  its  cold  and  indifferent  rays  in 
all  directions. 

And  then  the  bell  rang  clear  and  dis 
tinct  in  the  pure  Mediterranean  atmos 
phere,  telling  us  that  it  was  1  A.  M.,  and 
we  all  went  to  our  staterooms  to  court  the 
embraces  of  the  beneficent  tho  occasion 
ally  cruel  god  Morpheus;  cruel,  for  the 
most  troubled  souls,  who  need  his  gift  of 
oblivion  the  most,  often  pray  for  it  in  vain. 

Poor,  noble  Selma! 

Was  she  justified? 


117 


LOVE:  A  LITTLE  STORY  FOR 
FREE  LOVERS 


AN  EARNEST  WORKER  IN  HUMANITY'S  VINEYARD 


LOVE:  A  LITTLE  STORY  FOR 
FREE  LOVERS 

EATE,  destiny  and  luck  are  ana 
chronistic  terms  which  should  be 
eliminated   from   the  vocabulary 
of  thinking  men  and  women.     But  chance 
and  accident  still  play  an  important  role 
in    our    individual    existences.     Often    a 
greater    role    than    our    most    carefully 
worked-out  designs. 

A  brief,  aimless  stroll  will  sometimes 
change  the  course  of  a  man's  life.  It 
changed  Arnold  Trolling's  life.  It  was  in 
a  library  they  met.  He  was  traveling  with 
his  parents,  and  they  stopped  in  a  mid 
dle-sized  town  of  western  New  York.  It 
was  an  hour  to  lunch  and  he  thought  he 
would  take  a  stroll  and  see  the  town.  He 
had  walked  for  about  half  an  hour,  when, 
almost  without  any  warning,  he  was  over 
taken  by  a  terrific  downpour  of  rain.  He 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

looked  about  for  a  place  of  shelter,  and 
noticed  that  he  was  standing  near  a  public 
library.  He  walked  in. 

The  library  was  in  charge  of  a  solitary 
young  girl.  He  explained  that  he  came 
in  to  seek  protection  from  the  rain,  but  as 
he  was  in,  would  she  mind  giving  him  such 
and  such  a  book.  He  had  heard  a  good 
deal  about  it  and  wanted  to  see  it.  She 
was  very  sorry,  but  the  book  was  loaned 
out.  Her  voice  was  so  soft,  so  sweet  and 
vibrant  that  it  thrilled  him.  Would  he 
care  to  see  some  other  book,  or  some  of  the 
recent  magazines?  And  she  handed  him 
several. 

He  looked  at  her.  She  was  slight  and 
slim.  She  was  dressed  in  black,  with  just 
a  tiny  bit  of  white  around  the  collar  and 
cuffs.  The  face  was  small  and  thin;  it 
surely  wasn't  pretty;  some  might  call  it 
homely,  others  might  call  it  beautiful,  on 
account  of  the  large,  beautiful,  earnest 
eyes,  but  pretty  it  was  not.  Yes, 
122 


LOVE 

besides  her  beautiful,  very  beautiful 
eyes,  he  said  to  himself,  there  was  another 
beautiful  thing  about  her — her  hair,  her 
silky,  jet  black,  abundant  hair.  And  her 
entire  figure  was  a  delight.  So  perfect 
and  supple ;  and  it  wasn't  the  corsets  either 
that  helped  to  make  it  perfect,  for  she 
wore  no  corsets,  but  this  he  found  out  only 
later. 

He  glanced  thru  the  magazines,  ex 
changed  a  few  trivial  remarks,  and  as  the 
rain  had  stopped,  and  he  was  expected  at 
the  hotel  for  dinner,  he  left.  But  he  left 
with  a  feeling  of  undefinable  dissatisfac 
tion,  a  strange  regret.  But  in  this  feeling 
there  was  also  a  substratum  of  peculiar 
exaltation  and  buoyancy.  Of  course  he 
didn't  and  couldn't  give  himself  any  ac 
count  of  his  feelings.  He  didn't  suspect 
that  his  feeling  could  in  any  way  be  related 
to  the  little  librarian  in  the  black  dress. 
The  next  morning,  very  soon  after  the 
stroke  of  nine,  at  which  hour  he  knew  the 
123 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

library  opened,  he  was  in  the  reading 
room,  apparently  interested  in  the  weekly 
comic  papers. 

But  before  we  go  any  further,  let  us  say 
a  word  about  Arnold  and — Esther,  for 
Esther  was  the  young  librarian's  name. 

Arnold  was  twenty-one  years  old.  His 
parents  were  not  rich,  but  just  fairly  well 
off.  His  father  was  in  business,  the 
dry  goods  business,  I  believe.  Arnold's 
mother  died  when  he  was  six  years  old, 
and  a  year  later  his  father  married  again. 
His  stepmother  was  not  very  loving,  either 
to  him  or  to  her  own  children,  and  Arnold 
withdrew  into  himself.  He  was  a  serious, 
timid  boy,  studied  his  lessons  well,  and  as 
soon  as  he  began  to  read  books,  he  devoted 
all  his  spare  time  to  reading.  Books  were 
his  only  companions.  He  went  thru 
grammar  school,  high  school  and  college, 
and  now  he  was  studying  law.  He  did 
not  have  much  taste  for  law,  but  his  father 
thought  that  that  would  be  the  best  career 


LOVE 

for  him,  and  as  no  other  profession  made 
any  special  appeal  to  him,  he  consented. 
As  a  young  man  he  remained  the  same  se 
rious,  timid  boy.  All  his  free  time  he  spent 
home,  reading  and  studying.  He  never 
participated  in  the  good  times  his  fellow 
students  invited  him  to.  His  high  moral 
principles  would  not  permit  him,  and  he 
had  no  taste  for  any  kind  of  pranks,  ex 
cesses  or  license. 

Esther  was  twenty-four  years  old. 
Yes,  I  regret  to  say,  she  was  three  years 
older  than  Arnold.  If  I  were  inventing  a 
story,  I  would  make  the  heroine  younger. 
But  in  a  true  tale  the  facts  must  be  stated 
as  they  were.  To  some  people  it  might 
spoil  the  romance  of  the  story;  some 
people  cannot  imagine  passionate  love  be 
tween  a  man  and  a  woman,  if  the  woman  is 
older  than  the  man;  the  woman,  the  girl, 
must  always  be  several  years  younger  than 
the  man;  but  some  of  the  noblest,  most 
125 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

passionate  and  most  constant  unions  that 
I  have  known,  have  been  between  men  and 
women,  the  husbands  younger  than  the 
wives.  And  so  Esther  was  twenty-four 
years  old.  But  she  looked  much  younger. 
Not  more  than  eighteen.  Some  ten  years 
previously  she  had  come  over  with  her 
mother  from  Russia.  Her  father  was 
killed  in  one  of  those  horrible  massacres, 
called  pogroms,  in  which  innocent  and 
peaceful  Jewish  men,  women  and  children 
are  beaten,  maimed,  outraged  and  slaugh 
tered,  just  for  the  fun  of  the  populace. 
These  massacres  are  organized  with  irreg 
ular  periodicity  by  the  brutalized,  drunken 
mobs,  with  the  support  or  at  least  the  con 
nivance  of  the  brutal  Russian  government 
and  its  minions.  The  mob  knows  that  the 
punishment  will  be  merely  nominal  or 
none  at  all,  and  indulges  in  the  wildest, 
most  savage  crimes  and  excesses.  It  was 
in  trying  to  prevent  the  raping  of  a  young 
Jewish  girl  by  a  drunken  fiend,  that 
126 


LOVE 

Esther's  father  was  killed.  When,  with 
all  their  property  destroyed  by  the  insane 
rabble,  they  emigrated  to  America,  they 
had  settled  in  the  town  of  S—  — ,  because 
an  uncle  and  aunt  of  Esther's  had  been  liv 
ing  there  for  several  years.  Esther  entered 
public  school,  was  rapidly  promoted  from 
class  to  class  and  was  graduated  from  high 
school  with  the  highest  honors.  She  be 
gan  to  teach  school.  But  she  was  delicate. 
The  horror  of  the  massacre,  the  scene  when 
her  father,  covered  with  blood,  with  his 
skull  crushed,  was  carried  into  the  house, 
the  unconscious  condition  of  her  mother 
which  lasted  for  several  days,  left  an  in- 
eraseable  impression  on  her  nervous  sys 
tem,  and  she  could  never  become  robust. 
School  teaching  had  a  bad  effect  on  her, 
and  the  doctor  told  her  she  must  give  it  up. 
Just  at  that  time  the  city  was  endowed 
with  a  library,  and  the  choice  of  a  librarian 
fell  upon  her.  She  was  well  known  and 
well  beloved.  Her  mother  had  died  two 
127 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

or  three  years  after  their  removal  to 
America,  and  she  was  now  living  with  her 
aunt. 

Had  Arnold  not  been  engrossed  in  the 
papers,  he  would  have  noticed  that  his 
arrival  at  the  library  was  coincident  with  a 
sudden  blush  on  the  pale  face  of  the  little 
librarian.  He  would  not  have  known 
whether  his  arrival  was  the  cause  of  the 
blush,  but  he  could  not  have  failed  to  see 
that  it  was  synchronous  with  it.  But  it 
was  the  direct  cause  of  it.  For  when  Ar 
nold  had  left  the  library  the  previous  day, 
Esther  became  aware  of  a  sensation  which 
she  had  never  experienced  before.  In  a 
little  town  in  which  you  see  the  same  faces 
over  and  over  again,  every  new,  strange 
face  is  apt  to  cause  a  pleasurable  feeling. 
But  this  was  a  new,  distinct  sensation. 
When  Arnold  left,  the  room  seemed  so 
drearily  empty,  and  she  only  mechanically 
filled  the  orders  of  the  few  visitors.  Will 
128 


LOVE 

she  ever  see  him  again?     This  question 
kept  on  recurring  again  and  again. 

Our  psychologists  have  some  important 
work  to  do  to  explain,  if  it  ever  can  be  ex 
plained,  the  rationale  of  love  at  first  sight. 
Perhaps  they  will  have  to  call  in  the  aid  of 
the  exact  sciences.  Some  students  of  the 
problem  of  the  greatest  sensation  in  the 
world,  are  trying  to  explain  Love  on 
purely  chemical  principles.  They  say 
that  the  sight  of  the  beloved  or  to-be- 
beloved  object  excites  a  chemical  reaction 
in  the  lover,  starts  up  a  kind  of  fermenta 
tion,  which  can  be  soothed  or  neutralized 
only  by  the  presence  or  the  possession  of 
the  beloved  object.  Be  that  as  it  may,  it 
was  love  at  first  sight,  in  the  case  of  Ar 
nold  and  Esther. 

When  Arnold  left  that  day,  he  knew 
that  his  happiness  depended  on  Esther, 
and  Esther  knew  that  her  life  without  Ar 
nold  would  be  a  long,  dreary,  endless 
desert.  She  passed  a  restless  night.  She 
129 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

dreamed  of  a  horrible  massacre,  in  which 
Arnold's  life  was  threatened,  and  she 
awoke  with  a  start  and  a  scream.  She 
went  to  the  library  earlier  than  usual,  and 
she  had  hardly  opened  the  door  when  Ar 
nold  came  in.  They  passed  the  forenoon 
in  talking,  and  when  he  left  for  dinner  each 
knew  everything  that  was  to  be  known  of 
the  other's  life.  He  came  after  dinner 
and  spent  the  afternoon  with  her.  On  the 
following  day,  he  told  her  that  he  loved 
her,  and  that  he  would  love  her  to  the  end 
of  his  days,  and  that  of  course  he  would 
marry  her  and  nobody  else.  And  Esther 
knew  that  he  meant  it,  and  she  told  him 
that  she  loved  him  from  the  first  moment 
she  saw  him,  and  that  he  was  her  life  and 
her  ideal.  He  had  to  leave  the  following 
day,  and  he  spent  the  evening  with  her. 
The  parting  was  painful,  but  the  absolute 
assurance  of  each  other's  complete  and 
eternal  possession,  filled  them  with  a  hope 
and  radiance  that  did  not  permit  them  to 
130 


LOVE 

feel  despair  or  experience  any  sadness. 
They  knew  they  belonged  to  each  other; 
they  would  live  for  each  other,  and  they 
had  an  interest  which  would  fill  their  lives 
forever. 

They  corresponded  daily.  It  was  soon 
after  that  Esther  suggested  that  she  didn't 
think  law  was  the  proper  vocation  for  him. 
She  told  him  that  under  our  present  social 
conditions,  law  was  not  a  desirable  profes 
sion,  that  strictly  honest  men  could  not 
practice  it  without  injury  to  their  ideal 
ism,  for  success  in  it  depended  principally 
in  taking  advantage  of  the  other  party's 
weakness;  to  be  financially  successful  one 
must  be  unscrupulous  and  a  bully.  Alto 
gether  she  did  not  think  it  the  proper  life- 
work  for  Arnold.  He  fully  agreed  with 
her.  He  felt  the  same  way,  before  she 
wrote.  They  began  to  discuss  what  pro 
fession  to  select,  and  they  decided  on  med 
icine.  She  wrote  to  him  that  medicine 
was  the  only  profession  a  man  could  prac- 
131 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

tice  without  any  loss  of  self-respect,  and 
without  any  detriment  to  his  ideals.  Be 
sides  it  offered  a  great  field  for  discoveries 
and  improvements.  Since  calling  in  the 
aid  of  the  exact  sciences,  physics,  chemis 
try  and  biology,  it  was  itself  becoming 
every  year  more  and  more  of  an  exact  sci 
ence.  And  above  everything,  no  other 
vocation  brought  one  in  so  close  and  inti 
mate  relations  with  human  life,  and  of 
fered  so  many  opportunities  for  doing 
good,  and  being  helpful,  as  did  the  prac 
tice  of  medicine.  And  Arnold  entered 
upon  the  study  of  medicine,  the  noblest  of 
all  studies,  dealing  with  the  alleviation  of 
suffering,  the  prevention  and  cure  of  dis 
ease,  and  the  prolongation  of  human  life. 
His  father  objected  at  first  to  his  son's 
changing  his  career,  but  at  last  he  yielded 
to  his  arguments.  Arnold  put  all  his 
heart  into  his  studies ;  whatever  he  did,  he 
did  with  a  will.  His  only  recreation  and 
pleasure  was  the  daily  letter  from  Esther. 
132 


LOVE 

When  the  examinations  of  the  first 
year  were  over,  Arnold  told  his  father 
that  he  was  going  to  spend  his  vacation  at 
S—  — .  His  father  was  surprised  and 
asked  for  a  reason,  and  Arnold  told  him. 
It  was  the  first  time  that  Arnold  had  re 
ferred  to  the  subject.  His  father  became 
furious  and  blustered.  Arnold  was  pale 
but  silent.  He  remained  silent  until  his 
father  made  some  disparaging  remark 
about  Esther,  referring  to  her  as  probably 
being  an  adventuress,  or  something  like 
that.  And  then  Arnold  told  him  calmly 
but  tensely,  that  if  he  said  another  bad 
word  about  his  beloved  and  future  wife,  he 
would  leave  the  house  at  once  and  never 
return  to  it.  And  Arnold's  father  knew 
his  son.  Always  submissive  and  yielding 
in  little  things,  inflexible  and  unswervable 
in  big  things.  He  was  permitted  to  have 
his  own  way.  He  spent  a  blissful  sum 
mer  with  Esther.  Their  happiness  was 
supreme,  sublime.  His  love  was  not  like 
133 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

a  fire  that  bursts  out  into  an  all-consuming 
flame;  it  was  a  fire  that  burnt  steadily, 
constantly,  and  forever.  And  so  he  spent 
the  next  three  years:  nine  months  of  the 
year  in  the  college  and  laboratory,  three 
months  with  Esther. 

Immediately  after  his  graduation  they 
were  married.  They  lived  an  unclouded 
life,  unmarred  by  a  cross  word  or  an  un 
pleasant  action.  Their  love  seemed  to 
grow  stronger  with  each  passing  year. 
They  had  no  children.  A  medical  exam 
ination  showed  that  it  would  be  difficult 
for  Esther  to  give  birth  to  a  child,  that  it 
might  be  dangerous  to  her  life,  and  so  he 
took  precautions  she  should  have  no  chil 
dren.  But  they  wanted  to  have  children 
to  care  for  and  so  they  adopted  one;  then 
another  and  then  still  another.  It  was 
their  idea  that  well-to-do  people  who  had 
no  children,  were  in  duty  bound  to  adopt 
some  poor  children  and  give  them  the  ben 
efits  of  the  best  possible  environment  and 
134 


LOVE 

education.  But  with  them  it  was  not 
only  a  duty,  but  a  pleasure.  And  they 
loved  their  adopted  children  just  as  much 
as  if  they  had  been  of  their  own  flesh  and 
blood.  One  of  the  adopted  children  was 
what  is  called  an  illegitimate  child. 

Arnold  was  called  in  a  hurry  to  the 
house  of  a  well-known  and  well-to-do  fam 
ily.  When  he  arrived  there,  he  found 
that  a  girl  in  the  house  was  to  be  delivered 
of  a  child,  and  he  found  that  the  girl  was 
no  other  than  the  twenty-year-old  unmar 
ried  daughter  of  the  house.  The  father 
was  in  a  condition  of  suppressed  fury  and 
anguish,  the  mother  was  in  a  continually 
recurring  faint,  and  the  new  mother-to-be 
was  in  the  agony  of  labor  pains.  He 
asked  the  parents  to  remove  themselves 
from  the  room,  as  his  duty  was  now  only 
to  the  daughter,  who  had  enough  physical 
and  mental  torture  to  undergo,  and  it  was 
no  use  making  things  worse  than  they 
were.  Arnold  was  left  alone  with  the 
135 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

daughter.  His  kind,  earnest  face  and  his 
sympathetic  voice  acted  soothingly  on  the 
sufferer,  and  in  six  hours  he  had  delivered 
her  of  a  large,  strong  boy.  The  matter 
was  conducted  with  the  utmost  secrecy. 
When  on  the  eighth  day  he  made  his  last 
visit,  he  learned  that  the  intention  was  to 
send  the  child  away  to  a  foundling 
asylum,  or  to  the  home  of  some  poor 
woman.  Arnold  offered  to  take  the  child 
and  care  for  it  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  And 
the  boy  grew  up  to  bless  his  foster  parents. 
His  mother  married  some  two  years  later, 
went  to  another  city  to  live  and  exhibited 
no  interest  in  her  boy.  Perhaps  deep  in 
her  heart,  she  had  some  sentiment  for  him, 
but  she  thought  it  best  and  safest  not  to 
see  him,  and  not  to  nurture  that  sentiment. 

For  ten  years  Arnold  and  Esther  lived 

in  supreme  bliss.   Then  Esther  began  to  ail. 

An  affection  of  the  heart  valves  which  she 

had   had    for   many   years — it   probably 

136 


LOVE 

dated  from  the  period  of  the  horrors  of  the 
massacre — became  considerably  worse  and 
forced  her  to  take  to  bed.  Any  attempt 
to  be  up  was  followed  by  painful  attacks 
of  syncope,  which  on  several  occasions 
threatened  to  become  fatal.  So  she  made 
no  further  attempt  to  be  up.  Her  bed 
was  put  near  the  window,  looking  out  into 
the  garden.  And  there  she  lay  all  the 
time,  reading  a  book,  or  watching  the  chil 
dren  playing.  The  children  idolized  her, 
and  all  the  time  that  they  could  spare  from 
their  studies,  they  spent  in  her  bedroom. 
She  loved  to  have  them  around  her.  She 
felt  they  would  not  have  her  for  long. 
Arnold  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  day 
with  her.  He  gave  to  a  colleague  the 
greater  part  of  his  outside  practice,  at 
tending  only  to  such  patients  as  could  visit 
his  office.  This  lasted  for  three  years. 
Not  once  did  his  love  wane,  not  once  did 
his  tenderness  suffer  any  jar,  not  once  did 
he  find  his  voluntary  imprisonment  irk- 
137 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

some.  To  sit  near  Esther  and  pat  her 
hands,  or  smooth  her  hair,  to  read  to  her, 
to  tell  her  the  news  of  the  day,  to  whisper 
to  her  tender  and  loving  words — this  was 
his  greatest  pleasure,  his  greatest  pleasure 
now  just  as  much  as  in  the  days  of  court 
ship  or  during  the  first  years  of  their  mar 
ried  life. 

Esther  was  gradually  losing  ground. 
She  was  so  pitifully  thin,  her  skin  was  so 
transparent  that  all  over  the  veins  could  be 
seen  like  bluish  streaks.  And  her  attacks 
of  dyspnea  were  getting  more  frequent 
and  more  severe.  One  evening  she  drew 
Arnold  to  herself. 

"Let  me  kiss  you,  dearest,"  she  said. 
She  now  spoke  in  a  scarcely  audible 
whisper.  "I  feel  that  this  will  be  my  last 
night."  He  broke  out  in  a  sob.  "Don't 
cry,  dearest.  Promise  me  you  will  brace 
up.  Let  me  thank  you  for  your  love,  and 
for  the  happy  years  you  have  given  me.  I 
would  love  to  live,  for  your  sake,  but  it  is 
138 


LOVE 

not  to  be.  I  die  content.  No  woman  had 
a  happier  married  life  than  I.  Do  not 
cry,  love.  Do  not  make  the  last  hours 
harder  for  me.  For  my  sake  do  not  cry. 
And  promise  me  you  will  be  strong." 

She  became  silent,  exhausted.  Her 
eyes  closed,  and  only  by  carefully  listen 
ing  could  Arnold  make  out  that  she  was 
breathing.  He  felt  his  heart  would  burst, 
but  by  a  supreme  effort  he  restrained  his 
sobs,  tho  he  could  not  restrain  his  tears. 
He  remained  all  night  at  the  head  of  the 
bed;  towards  morning  he  heard  a  hoarse 
whisper,  in  which  he  could  distinguish  the 
words :  "Arnold,  Arnold,  help," — and  she 
was  gone. 

He  remained  stunned.  In  the  morning 
he  was  found  sitting  in  the  same  place, 
holding  Esther's  cold  hands.  He  did  not 
cry ;  he  remained  dead,  apathetic.  Friends 
begged  him  to  brace  up,  and  he  came 
somewhat  to  himself.  But  he  was  good 
139 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

for  nothing.  He  seemed  to  be  in  a  daze. 
A  friend  took  it  upon  himself  to  attend 
to  all  the  funeral  arrangements.  When 
Esther  was  put  into  the  coffin,  he  gave  a 
sudden  lurch,  and  would  have  fallen  prone 
to  the  ground,  if  not  caught  by  those 
around  him.  He  was  put  in  a  carriage, 
and  his  friends  spoke  to  him  firmly  and 
gently.  They  told  him  that  he  owed  it  to 
her  whom  he  loved  so  much  to  brace  up 
and  be  a  man.  Oh,  yes,  she  also  asked 
him  to  brace  up  and  he  promised  her.  He 
must  try.  By  a  supreme  effort  of  the 
will,  he  succeeded  in  acting  in  a  normal 
manner.  But  when  the  coffin  was  low 
ered  into  the  grave,  and  he  was  handed  the 
shovel  to  throw  some  earth  onto  it,  he  fell 
in  a  dead  faint.  It  took  the  better  part  of 
half  an  hour  to  bring  him  to.  It  was 
feared  at  one  time  that  the  syncope  would 
prove  fatal. 

And  now  there  began  for  Arnold  a 
period  of  extreme  suffering  and  torture. 
140 


LOVE 

The  three  years'  vigil  over  Esther,  com 
bined  with  the  shock  of  her  death,  pro 
duced  a  state  of  complete  nervous  ex 
haustion.  He  was  unable  to  walk  unless 
supported  by  two  people,  he  could  eat 
nothing,  and  worst  of  all,  he  became  af 
flicted  with  the  greatest  of  all  curses,  an 
obstinate  insomnia,  which  resisted  all 
treatment.  The  most  eminent  physicians 
took  a  great  personal  interest  in  him,  and 
the  most  ingenious  combinations  of  hyp 
notics  were  suggested  and  prescribed  for 
him.  But  they  had  only  a  feeble,  tempo 
rary  effect,  or  none  at  all.  His  lack  of 
appetite  and  lack  of  sleep  caused  him  to 
lose  flesh  rapidly — he  looked  like  a  living 
skeleton — and  fears  were  entertained  for 
the  integrity  of  his  mind.  At  the  same 
time,  any  attempt  to  take  him  out  for  a 
drive  into  the  fresh  air,  was  followed  by 
dangerous  fainting  spells.  He  spent  a 
year  in  bed.  His  practice  was,  of  course, 
given  up.  The  house  was  being  neg- 
141 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

lected.  He  became  a  sore  problem  to  his 
friends. 

One  of  them,  his  best  and  bluntest 
friend,  decided  to  have  a  talk  with  him. 
He  knew  that  with  neurasthenics  only 
blunt  talk  could  have  any  effect.  He  told 
him  that  his  conduct  was  a  disgrace,  both 
to  the  memory  of  Esther,  and  to  his  chil 
dren.  He  had  a  duty  to  his  children 
whom  he  had  adopted;  they  were  being 
neglected,  they  felt  themselves  not  only 
motherless,  which  was  hard  enough  for 
them,  but  also  fatherless.  Whether  time 
was  having  its  healing  effect,  or  whether 
his  friend's  conversation  changed  the  cur 
rent  of  his  thoughts,  but  he  began  to  im 
prove  slowly.  In  three  months  he  was 
able  to  leave  the  house,  and  three  or  four 
months  later  he  began  slowly  to  attend  to 
his  practice. 

Six  years  have  passed  since  Esther's 
death.  Arnold  is  paler,  more  reserved 
than  he  was,  he  is  somewhat  stoop- 


LOVE 

shouldered,  but  he  attends  to  his  work  and 
his  duties  earnestly  and  industriously. 
No  woman  exists  for  him,  for  the  best  and 
gentlest  and  cleverest  women  possess  one 
irremediable  defect:  they  are  not  Esther. 
And  a  week  seldom  passes,  that  in  the 
midst  of  his  work,  he  does  not  take  his 
autocar  and  run  over  to  the  city  of  the 
dead,  where  a  granite  stone  marks  the 
resting  place  of  Esther.  He  will  sit  there 
an  hour,  sometimes  two;  he  will  sit  and 
meditate,  and  usually  weep.  His  free- 
thinking  friends  call  it  superstition  and 
morbid  sentimentality,  but  who  can  fully 
comprehend  the  psychology  of  another 
man's  soul? 

And  if  one  should  take  the  trouble  to 
pass  a  night  near  the  door  of  Arnold's 
bedroom  and  listen,  he  would  often  hear 
somebody  quietly  sobbing,  sobbing.  .  .  . 


143 


THE  RISE  OF  RICHARD  MAR- 
TINDALE 


Gto 
IRarte 

SWEET,  DAINTY  AND  LOYAL 


THE  RISE  OF  RICHARD  MAR- 
TINDALE 


v»__  ^rp  jg  a  giorious  dav  Not  a  cloud 
let  in  the  azure  sky.  The  god  of 
^  """**  the  sun  is  caressing  the  earth  with 
his  warm  rays  and  the  Adriatic  Sea, 
stretching  boundlessly  beyond  the  horizon, 
is  waving  invitations  to  all  living  creatures 
to  come  and  taste  the  delicious  coolness 
of  its  waters. 

And  men,  women  and  little  children 
joyfully  accept  the  invitation.  And  as 
you  watch  them  in  the  water,  splashing, 
swimming,  teaching  others  to  swim,  som 
ersaulting  and  indulging  in  all  kinds  of 
pranks,  they  make  a  pretty  picture,  a 
happy  picture,  and  one  is  ready  to  agree 
for  the  nonce  with  the  optimist,  that  this 
is  a  good  world,  the  best  of  all  possible 
worlds.  And  the  grayish-white  warm 
sand  of  the  Lido  beach  is  covered  with  gay 
colored  humanity.  The  children  run 
147 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

about  with  their  balls  and  hoops,  or  build 
mountains  or  throw  sand  into  each  other's 
faces;  the  young  maidens  disport  their 
pretty  bathing  suits  while  listening  to  the 
compliments  or  amorous  declarations  of 
their  ephemeral  admirers;  others  lie  pros 
trated  on  the  sand,  enjoying  the  warmth, 
the  sunshine,  the  sky,  the  salty  odor  of  the 
sea  and  wishing  that  it  might  always 
be  so. 

And  the  children! 

The  happy  children !  It  is  hard  to  tear 
one's  self  away  from  them.  Free  of  care, 
happy,  full  of  exuberant  spirits  and  ani 
mal  vitality — for  they  are  children  of  the 
rich — they  romp  about  with  their  expen 
sive  toys,  build  figures  and  castles  out  of 
sand  and  quickly  destroy  them,  bury  their 
playmates  under  little  mounds,  run  to  the 
edge  of  the  water  to  the  discomfiture  of 
their  nurses  and  governesses,  squeal, 
scream  and  run  away — and  are  as  happy 
as  only  children  can  be.  In  the  future  all 
148 


RICHARD  MARTINDALE 

children  will  be  happy — there  will  be  no 
tenement  starvelings,  no  child  labor  slaves, 
no  tots  in  cotton  mills,  no  babies  in  fac 
tories,  and  no  little  mothers  with  the  cares 
and  the  faces  of  old  women. 

But  let  us  be  glad  that  at  least  some 
children  are  happy — and  the  children  on 
the  beach  are  all  supremely  happy. 

All,  except  one. 

He  lies  flat  on  his  back,  with  his  face 
wistfully  upturned  to  the  sky.  He  lies 
for  hours  at  a  time,  apparently  thinking, 
thinking.  His  governess  and  then  his 
mother  asks  him  to  go  for  a  little  stroll, 
but  he  refuses.  He  lies  and  thinks  and 
listens.  His  acute  ear  catches  the  talk 
of  the  children,  and  failing  to  understand 
some  of  the  words,  his  sweet  delicately 
chiseled  little  face  twitches  convulsively, 
and  at  times  he  seems  to  be  on  the  point 
of  crying.  But  he  knows  that  his  crying 
hurts  his  mother,  and  he  therefore  won't 
cry.  No,  he  won't.  He  has  even  given 
149 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

up  asking  questions  of  his  mother,  for  he 
noticed  that  his  questions  distressed  her 
and  sometimes  would  even  make  her  cry. 
And  for  nothing,  nothing  in  the  world 
would  he  make  his  beloved  mamma  cry. 
Never  again  will  he  torment  her  with  ques 
tions  as  to  what  is  red,  what  is  blue,  what 
is  the  difference  between  black  and  white. 
Never  will  he  ask  her  why  he  is  so  differ 
ent  from  other  children,  why  they  can  go 
about  all  by  themselves,  while  he  always 
needs  somebody  to  lead  him.  In  short, 
he  will  never  ask  his  mother  the  reason 
why  God  made  him  blind.  For  little 
Rostand  Martindale  is  blind,  completely 
blind. 

And  while  Rostand  lies  stretched  on 
the  sand,  thinking — whatever  can  his  little 
brain  think  about — with  his  mother  pain 
fully  tho  resignedly  watching  over  him, 
Richard  Martindale,  Rostand's  father, 
sits  in  a  wicker  chair,  on  the  hotel  veranda, 
looks  out  on  the  beach  and  over  the  surf, 
150 


RICHARD  MARTINDALE 

smokes  a  cigar  and  thinks.  His  thoughts 
are  apparently  not  very  cheerful  ones,  for 
his  face  is  clouded  and  it  costs  him  some 
effort  to  smile  back  at  his  wife,  when  she 
smiles  at  him  from  below.  He  puffs  at 
his  cigar  slowly  and  as  the  curls  of  smoke 
dissolve  into  fantastic  shapes,  his  life 
passes  before  him  in  rapid  view. 

His  childhood  was  happy  and  cloudless. 
He  always  had  everything  he  wanted. 
While  he  was  not  particularly  brilliant 
in  his  studies,  he  got  along  well  and  never 
failed  in  any  examinations.  His  parents 
were  very  indulgent  to  him,  perhaps  too 
indulgent,  he  thinks  bitterly.  He  always 
had  more  money  than  he  needed  or  knew 
what  to  do  with.  But  his  real  life  com 
menced  when  he  entered  college.  He  was 
rapidly  introduced  to  different  phases  of 
life,  with  which  up  to  that  time  he  had 
been  entirely  unfamiliar.  He  proved  an 
adept  pupil.  The  morals  of  the  college 
students  were  rather  elastic,  and  things 
151 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

which  at  home  he  would  have  condemned 
as  wrong  and  wicked,  he  here  accepted  as 
a  matter  of  course,  because  his  fellow  stu 
dents  said  it  was  all  right  and  all  or  almost 
all  acted  the  same  way. 

It  was  during  his  third  year  in  college 
that  he  met  Ida  Rosen.  Tho  he  had  lost 
much  of  the  youthful  innocence  which  he 
had  brought  with  him  to  college,  he  was 
not  blase,  like  so  many  of  his  friends. 
Yes,  he  remembers  distinctly,  he  still  re 
spected  women ;  he  still  believed  that  there 
were  good  women,  and  he  still  refused  to 
consider  all  women  as  playthings,  made 
for  man's  pleasure  and  amusement,  and 
to  be  discarded  when  they  became  a  bore. 

He  was  struck  by  the  healthy  beauty  of 
Ida's  face,  a  beauty  which  knew  nothing 
of  paint  or  powder,  by  her  innocent  limpid 
eyes,  by  her  glorious  hair,  which  had  no 
need  of  puffs  and  switches,  by  the  sweet 
charm  of  her  manners.  She  was  a  sales 
girl  in  one  of  the  department  stores,  but — 
152 


RICHARD  MARTINDALE 

he  smiled  when  he  thought  of  it — when 
they  got  better  acquainted  she  surprised 
him  by  her  culture.  He  felt  humiliated 
at  the  thought  that  she  was  more  familiar 
with  modern  literature  than  he  was — he, 
the  college  student.  He  does  not  remem 
ber  now  whether  it  was  love  at  first  sight, 
but  he  remembers  that  very  soon  after  he 
met  her  he  was  deeply  in  love  with  her 
and  had  made  up  his  mind  that  he  could 
not  live  without  her.  It  so  seemed  to  him. 
He  began  to  pay  visits  to  the  store  in 
which  Ida  worked.  He  was  a  good  cus 
tomer — in  Ida's  department.  But  soon 
his  visits  began  to  excite  attention  and 
Ida  became  the  butt  of  the  other  store 
employes  who  twitted  her  on  her  admirer. 
She  had  to  request  him  to  cease  his  visits. 

He  then  asked  her  to  meet  him  in  the 
evening.  She  refused.  But  he  was  so 
persistent,  he  assured  her  so  earnestly  that 
no  harm  would  ever  come  to  her,  her  life 
was  so  drab  and  dreary,  and — as  she  con- 
153 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

f  essed  later  on — she  took  so  much  pleasure 
in  his  company,  that  she  finally  yielded. 
He  thought  with  pleasure  of  those  walks 
in  the  evening,  when  merely  being  by  her 
side  was  a  delight,  when  the  conversation 
about  nothing  in  particular  was  bliss,  and 
when  he  felt  his  love  for  her  was  pure  and 
unselfish.  But  while  woman  can  be  satis 
fied  with  the  mere  closeness  of  her  beloved 
one,  man  can  not.  He  may  at  first,  but 
after  a  time,  he  demands  more.  Where 
a  pressure  of  the  hand  sufficed  at  first, 
he  now  must  have  kisses  and  embraces. 
While  Ida  was  perfectly  happy  to  close 
the  day  with  a  walk  by  the  side  of  Martin- 
dale,  he  began  to  tire  of  just  walking. 
He  began  to  take  her  to  theaters,  to  res 
taurants,  on  steamboat  outings.  And  one 
beautiful  summer  night  the  inevitable 
happened. 

After  that  he  did  not  permit  her  to  go 
back  to  the  store.     She  was  to  be  his  wife 
and  he  could  not  permit  her  to  work  as  a 
154 


RICHARD  MARTINDALE 

salesgirl  in  a  drygoods  store  for  nine  dol 
lars  a  week.  He  rented  a  little  flat  for 
her  where  he  could  visit  her  to  his  heart's 
content.  Ida  passed  three  months  of 
exquisite  happiness.  Only  one  thing 
marred  it,  she  told  him.  Every  now  and 
then,  when  he  wrould  be  away,  a  terrible 
fear  would  seize  her,  that  such  happiness 
could  not  last;  she  did  not  deserve  such 
happiness,  and  no  human  being  could 
stand  such  bliss  for  long.  It  is  the 
blighted  result  of  our  vicious  bringing  up ; 
of  our  cruel  theologic  teachings,  that  hap 
piness  is  something  improper,  something 
to  apologize  for.  But  her  fear  was  gen 
eral,  vague,  indefinite.  She  had  no  mis 
givings  as  to  Richard.  He,  she  knew  and 
she  told  him  so  repeatedly,  would  not  for 
sake  her,  he  would  stand  by  her,  no  matter 
what  happened.  And  so  he  thought  him 
self.  She  had  nobody  in  the  world  but 
him,  and  without  him  life  to  her  would 
be  intolerable. 

155 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

One  morning  she  told  him  that  she 
feared  she  was  pregnant.  He  took  the 
news,  he  remembers,  with  rather  bad  grace. 
For  that  meant  the  need  of  some  definite 
decision,  taking  a  radical  step.  And  he 
did  not  like  definite  decisions  and  radical 
steps.  To  her  the  thing  seemed  very  plain : 
all  they  had  to  do  was  to  get  married. 
He  called  her  his  dear  little  wife ;  she  was 
his  wife  in  fact;  all  he  had  to  do  was  to 
make  her  his  wife  before  the  world  and 
before  the  law.  He  thought  so  too. 

Fain  would  he  cast  the  mantle  of  im 
penetrable  oblivion  over  all  that  followed : 
the  stormy  scenes  with  his  father,  the  re 
peated  swoonings  of  his  mother — she  could 
swoon  very  conveniently — the  angry  con 
temptuous  looks  of  his  sisters,  who  were 
afraid  that  their  chances  would  be  spoiled 
by  their  brother  making  a  mesalliance. 
The  horror  of  it — a  Martindale  marrying 
a  salesgirl!  No,  it  could  not  be  allowed. 
And  then  his  forcible  packing  off  to  Eu- 
156 


RICHARD  MARTINDALE 

rope.  Was  it  really  forcible?  Consid 
ering  now  things  calmly  and  being  strictly 
honest  with  himself,  he  was  bound  to  con 
fess  that  it  was  not  altogether  forcible. 
That  in  the  depth  of  his  heart  he  was 
grateful  to  his  parents  for  compelling  him 
to  part  with  Ida.  For  he  began  to  fear 
that  Ida  was  not  a  proper  wife  for  him. 
And  he  began  to  find  faults  in  Ida.  Any 
man  who  begins  to  tire  of  his  wife  or  his 
mistress  has  no  difficulty  in  finding  ex 
cuses  for  his  tired  feeling,  finds  it  very 
easy  to  discover  a  whole  list  of  de 
fects. 

And  then  coming  to  think  of  it,  he  never 
really  promised  to  marry  her.  Oh,  how 
he  blushed  now  at  this  contemptible,  cow 
ardly  thought !  Many  cowards  try  to  jus 
tify  their  craven  conscience  by  this  dis 
honest  subterfuge — that  they  have  given 
no  formal  promise  to  marry.  That  all 
their  actions  were  promises,  that  it  was  so 
self-understood  that  the  poor  girl  would 
157 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

have  considered  it  a  deadly  insult  to  either 
doubt  it  or  to  ask  any  questions,  is  of  little 
significance  with  them.  But  he  thought 
with  satisfaction  that  he  did  not  enjoy 
his  European  trip.  Ida's  face  stood  be 
fore  him  when  awake,  it  stood  before  him 
when  he  was  asleep.  What  has  become  of 
her?  How  did  she  take  his  good-bye  let 
ter?  And  were  the  two  hundred  dollars 
that  he  enclosed  of  any  use  to  her  in  get 
ting  her  out  of  her  difficulty?  And  what 
was  she  doing  now?  All  these  questions 
kept  on  recurring  to  his  mind,  but  the 
answers  to  them  he  was  to  learn  only  on 
his  return  to  America. 

His  mother,  who  accompanied  him  to 
Europe,  noticing  his  depression,  tried  to 
argue  with  him,  upbraiding  him  for  his 
infatuation  for  an  "unprincipled  adven 
turess,"  who,  she  was  sure,  only  wanted 
him  for  his  position  and  his  money;  but 
when  she  saw  that  her  arguments  had  an 
effect  just  contrary  to  what  she  expected, 
158 


RICHARD  MARTINDALE 

she  left  him  alone.     And  he  liked  it  bet 
ter  so. 

Six  months  they  traveled  in  Europe. 
The  rich  can  afford  such  luxuries.  To 
wards  the  end  his  young  nature  began  to 
assert  itself.  The  beautiful  scenery,  the 
interesting  sights,  the  new  customs  and 
languages,  the  numerous  people,  the  bevies 
of  dainty,  fresh,  refined  young  girls  he 
came  in  contact  with,  began  to  produce 
their  effect  on  him,  and  the  multitude  of 
new  impressions  began  to  efface  the  old 
ones.  Ida's  face  appeared  at  rarer  in 
tervals,  and  the  question  of  her  sufferings, 
or  what  had  become  of  her,  did  not  pre 
sent  itself  with  the  same  implacable  in 
sistence  as  before.  And  when  he  did 
think  of  her,  his  evil  genius  would  whisper 
to  him:  Oh,  such  things  happen  every  day, 
and  his  conscience  would  be  satsified.  At 
least  he  would  try  to  make  himself  believe 
that  it  was,  tho  in  his  subconsciousness  he 
would  feel  that  that  was  no  excuse,  that 
159 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

he  was  lying  to  himself  and  that  his  wound 
was  not  really  healed  from  the  bottom, 
that  it  was  merely  granulated  on  the  sur 
face,  was  merely  patched  over  with  a  thin 
layer  of  adhesive  plaster.  And  he  felt 
that  it  would  require  but  a  slight  pres 
sure  of  circumstances  to  tear  that  plaster 
away,  and  to  make  the  wounds  of  his  heart 
and  conscience  reopen  and  bleed  anew. 

He  had  been  barely  a  month  in  New 
York  when  his  longing  for  Ida  or  perhaps 
his  great  pity  for  her  returned  in  full 
force.  He  had  to  see  her,  he  had  to  find 
out  what  had  become  of  her.  But  where 
to  look? 

He  walked  the  streets,  he  visited  the 
various  department  stores,  thinking  that 
perhaps  she  took  another  position,  he  in 
serted  somewhat  masked  personal  ads.  in 
the  newspapers,  but  all  in  vain.  There 
was  no  trace  of  Ida.  A  year  passed.  He 
had  been  graduated  from  college  in  the 
meantime,  passing  a  rather  mediocre  ex- 
160 


RICHARD  MARTINDALE 

animation,  and  to  find  Ida  became  now  his 
idee  fixe. 

He  told  a  newspaper  friend  the  whole 
story,  and  begged  him  to  help  him  find 
Ida  Rosen  if  alive.  If  she  was  dead,  he 
had  to  know  the  circumstances  under 
which  she  died.  Ida  Rosen!  The  name 
was  familiar  to  his  friend.  He  thought 
he  had  heard  it,  he  thought  she  had  figured 
in  the  newspapers.  Some  three  days  later 
he  brought  Martindale  a  file  of  old  news 
papers  in  which  the  gruesome  story  was 
told,  with  harrowing  details,  photographs 
and  illustrations,  of  how  a  young  girl,  Ida 
Rosen,  threw  herself  in  the  river,  how  she 
was  rescued  by  a  burly  policeman  who 
jumped  after  her  in  full  uniform,  how 
dangerously  ill  she  became  — the  shock 
produced  a  miscarriage — so  that  she  had 
to  be  taken  from  the  station-house  to  the 
hospital,  how  for  several  weeks  she  hov 
ered  in  the  hospital  between  life  and  death, 
and  how  finally  she  recovered  and  was  dis- 
161 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

charged  by  the  magistrate  with  a  sus 
pended  sentence.  Some  of  the  yellow 
newspapers  got  wind  that  the  author  of 
Ida's  troubles  was  a  rich  young  man,  the 
scion  of  an  aristocratic  family.  The  re 
porters  and  special  story  writers  tried  by 
wiles,  ruses  and  threats  to  get  Ida  to  di 
vulge  the  name  of  the  young  man,  but 
all  their  endeavors  to  make  a  sensational 
salacious  story  proved  unavailing.  Ida 
obstinately,  and  without  disguising  her 
contempt,  refused  to  utter  as  much  as  a 
syllable  on  the  subject. 

What  became  of  her  afterward  the 
newspaper  friend  did  not  know.  He 
promised  to  try  to  find  out.  He  made  in 
quiries  at  the  Police  Headquarters,  and 
there  he  was  told  that  they  thought  she 
had  "gone  to  the  bad." 

One  evening  he  met  her.     When  she 

saw  him  coming,  she  wanted  to  run  back, 

run,  run  as  fast  as  she  could.     But  her 

feet  refused  to  move.     And  then  Martin- 

162 


dale  was  upon  her  and  held  her  fast  by  the 
wrist.  She  tried  to  avoid  his  eyes.  She 
covered  her  face  with  her  free  hand,  that 
pale,  almost  unrecognizable  face,  on  which 
there  were  expressed  horror,  doubt,  shame 
and  humiliation — and  j  oy.  And  then  she 
broke  out  into  quiet  sobs  which  shook  her 
small  emaciated  body. 

He  took  her  into  a  side  street  and  spoke 
to  her  lovingly,  soothingly.  They  went 
into  a  quiet  little  French  restaurant  and 
there  they  talked.  That  is,  she  talked. 
He  begged  her  to  tell  him  all,  to  relieve 
her  overburdened,  bursting  heart. 

And  he  heard  the  sordid,  painful,  pitiful 
story  of  her  disheartening  struggles,  after 
her  discharge  by  the  hospital  and  the 
court;  with  what  scant  courtesy  she  was 
treated  wrhen  she  applied  for  a  position 
at  the  drygoods  stores  and  how  finally  un 
able  to  stand  the  hunger  any  longer — his 
check  she  destroyed  in  a  fit  of  passion  to 
gether  with  the  letter — and  threatened 
163 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

with  dispossess  from  her  little  ballroom, 
she  took  up  the  shameful  trade  she  was 
now  pursuing.  Why  she  hadn't  tried 
again  to  make  an  end  of  it  all  ?  It  seemed 
to  her  as  if  that  question  was  in  his  mind 
(tho  it  wasn't) .  Because  she  was  too  un 
happy,  and  too  indifferent  to  life  to  at 
tempt  suicide.  She  had  no  pride,  no  am 
bition,  no  manhood  left.  In  order  to  com 
mit  suicide  a  person  must  still  possess 
some  love  of  life.  He  or  she  must  have 
some  of  their  ideals  left,  some  shame,  some 
manhood.  Those  who  have  sunk  to  the 
lowest  rung  of  the  ladder  do  not  commit 
suicide.  Ida  had  no  life  left  in  her,  and 
for  this  reason  she  did  not  seek  death. 
And  the  horror,  humiliation  and  notoriety 
attendant  upon  her  first  unsuccessful  at 
tempt  were  still  fresh  in  her  memory  and 
restrained  her  from  making  a  second  at 
tempt. 

And  as  she  was  trying  to  explain  and 
justify  herself — as  if  she  needed  justifi- 
164 


RICHARD  MARTINDALE 

cation — she  broke  out  again  into  uncon 
trollable  sobs.  He  soothed  her. 

"Whatever  you  are,"  he  told  her  as  he 
now  recollected  with  satisfaction,  "I  have 
made  you  so.  You  are  not  to  blame.  I 
am  the  only  one  that  is  guilty.  But  it  is 
all  over;  there  will  be  an  end  to  all  your 
troubles.  I  have  been  a  brute,  but  I  will 
make  amends,  and  you  shall  yet  be  a 
happy  woman." 

"Too  late,"  she  replied  in  her  sad  pa 
thetic  voice,  "I  have  no  life  left  in  me  and 
my  heart  is  broken.  I  do  not  even  know 
whether  I  am  a  safe  person  to  associate 
with.  There  was  a  time  when  I  could 
have  made  you  a  fit  mate  for  life,  but  not 
now." 

But,  of  course,  he  would  not  give  in. 
He  tried  to  persuade  her.  And  tho  she 
felt  that  it  was  more  duty  than  love  that 
spoke  in  him,  she  let  herself  be  persuaded. 
Who  can  willfully,  deliberately  push  away 
happiness  or  the  promise  of  happiness 
165 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

from  one's  self?  A  drowning  man  can 
not  refuse  the  life-saving  belt  or  raft,  a 
man  parched  with  thirst  cannot  refuse 
the  sparkling  draught  which  he  knows 
will  allay  his  agony,  and  a  human  being 
living  in  shame,  penury,  fear  and  humili 
ation  cannot  refuse  the  helping  hand  of 
a  friend,  especially  when  that  friend  was 
once  a  lover,  a  lover  whose  mere  presence 
was  still  supreme  happiness  for  her.  Her 
present  life  wras  so  horrible,  that  any 
change  from  it  would  be  a  salvation.  And 
tho  she  did  not  mean  to  keep  it  up  for 
long — so  she  confessed  to  him  later  on — 
she  did  so  long  for  a  little  of  the  former 
pleasures,  of  the  former  happiness,  which 
he  had  promised  her  would  be  permanent, 
and  which  ended  so  suddenly,  so  quickly, 
so  abruptly. 

She  moved  into  a  new  neighborhood, 

and  he  began  to  visit  her  frequently.     Not 

as  frequently  as  she  might  have  wished, 

but  as  frequently  as  he  could  without  ex- 

166 


RICHARD  MARTINDALE 

citing  his  parents'  suspicions.  She  re 
gained  some  of  her  former  beauty  and 
health,  but  not  happiness.  While  he  tried 
to  convince  her  to  the  contrary,  she  felt 
that  this  was  but  temporary,  that  it  could 
not  last  forever  or  for  long.  And  when  he 
spoke  of  marrying  her  as  soon  as  he  got 
some  independent  position,  she  only  smiled 
sadly.  So  sadly  that  now  after  the  lapse 
of  so  many  years  it  still  hurt  him. 

A  succession  of  events  brought  about 
the  tragic  denouement.  One  evening  as  he 
was  taking  her  to  the  theater,  two  painted 
and  powdered  damsels  came  up  to  them. 
They  greeted  her  effusively,  saying  how 
glad  they  were  to  see  her,  and  how  they 
wondered  what  had  become  of  her.  She 
shrank  back  in  fear  and  humiliation,  with 
out  responding  to  their  greeting.  They 
passed  on  muttering  some  coarse  remark 
about  her  being  stuck  up  because  she 
landed  a  rich  "sucker."  The  evening  in 
theater  was  spoiled.  They  hardly  ex- 
167 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

changed  a  word.  Her  former  life  stood 
before  her  in  all  its  hideousness,  and  his 
heart  was  heavy.  The  next  day  she  spoke 
to  him.  She  insisted  that  he  must  leave 
her,  that  she  was  not  a  proper  companion 
for  him.  Life  is  not  a  slate,  from  which 
you  can  wipe  off  the  disagreeable  facts 
by  passing  a  sponge  over  them.  Certain 
events  leave  their  indelible  marks,  which 
nothing  can  erase,  nothing  can  obliterate, 
nothing  can  even  cover  up.  But  he  was 
man  enough  to  laugh  at  her  suggestion. 
He  said  that  it  was  only  a  matter  of  time, 
when  her  past  would  be  forgotten  by  her 
self  and  others,  and  they  Avould  be  able  to 
live  openly  and  peacefully. 

At  about  the  same  time  his  newspaper 
friend  found  out  about  his  relations  with 
Ida,  and  out  of  pure  friendship  he  con 
sidered  it  his  duty  to  notify  Martindale's 
parents.  He  wanted  to  save  him  from 
an  entanglement  which  would  be  sure  to 
stand  in  the  way  of  his  future,  which  might 
168 


RICHARD  MARTINDALE 

entirely  ruin  his  career.  Another  terrific 
scene  between  his  hardhearted  and  dicta 
torial  father  and  himself.  High  words 
were  exchanged,  and  the  result  was  an 
ultimatum:  to  give  up  that  "wretch"  at 
once  or  to  leave  the  house.  He  left  the 
house.  When  Ida  learned  of  it,  she  did 
not  say  anything,  but  she  began  to  get 
ready  to  escape,  to  leave  New  York,  so 
that  he  could  not  find  her.  With  the  self- 
sacrifice  of  women  who  love  truly,  she  did 
not  want  to  be  in  his  way,  she  did  not 
want  to  ruin  his  "future."  He  discov 
ered  her  plans  and  reprimanded  her  se 
verely.  He  told  her  that  he  would  follow 
her  anywhere,  that  he  would  not  go  back 
home,  that  he  would  stand  by  her  thru 
thick  and  thin,  and  that  she  should  not 
make  it  harder  for  him  than  it  was.  She 
might  have  let  him  persuade  her — we  are 
easily  persuaded  toward  things  which  are 
the  sweetness  and  happiness  of  life — but 
one  morning  she  noticed  that  she  was  suf- 
169 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

fering  with  a  well-known  infectious  dis 
ease.  The  germs  of  the  disease  must  have 
been  dormant  in  her  for  some  time.  And 
she  thought  with  horror  that  she  must 
also  have  given  the  disease  to  Martindale. 
And  tho  he  tried  to  conceal  it  from  her, 
she  found  out  that  she  did  infect  him, 
that  he  was  suffering  from  the  same  dis 
ease.  It  was  apparently  in  a  mild  form, 
but,  as  the  doctor  told  him,  some  of  the 
mild  forms  of  the  disease  leave  sometimes 
very  severe  sequelae.  And  then  her  mind 
was  made  up. 

The  following  morning  he  received  a 
letter  from  Ida.  He  was  surprised,  as 
she  was  not  in  the  habit  of  writing  to  him. 
And  he  was  to  see  her  the  same  day. 
When  he  opened  the  letter,  a  cold  sweat 
came  out  on  his  forehead  and  his  heart 
stood  still.  He  remembers  every  word  of 
it,  for  he  still  has  it  in  his  possession,  and 
he  has  read  it  many,  many  times.  It  ran 
as  follows: 

170 


RICHARD  MARTINDALE 

Dearly  beloved  friend:  I  have  decided 
to  take  the  final  fatal  step.  This  is  the 
only  solution.  You  know  as  I  do,  that  I 
cannot  become  your  wife.  My  heart  is 
broken,  my  spirit  is  crushed,  my  body  is 
diseased.  If  you  have  sinned  against  me, 
you  have  tried  nobly  to  expiate  it,  and  I 
thank  you  with  all  my  soul  for  the  ad 
ditional  happiness  which  you  have  allowed 
me  to  taste.  I  have  loved  you  from  the 
minute  I  saw  you,  and  I  love  you  now,  and 
because  I  love  you  it  is  best  I  should  die 
(and  this  time  I  will  make  sure).  From 
the  moment  I  saw  you  my  thoughts  have 
been  of  you  only,  and  my  last  thought 
will  be  of  you.  I  am  a  victim  of  our  un 
just  social  conditions.  Not  the  first,  not 
the  last.  If  I  may  leave  a  last  request, 
it  is  you  should  devote  your  life  to  work 
which  will  improve  our  social  conditions, 
and  which  will  perhaps  make  such  victims 
unnecessary.  I  beg  of  you,  do  nothing 
after  you  receive  this  letter.  It  will  be  too 
171 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

late  to  do  anything.  Do  nothing  rash,  that 
will  bring  you  into  useless  notoriety,  which 
can  serve  no  purpose  except  to  make  your 
family  unhappy.  Heart  of  my  heart,  life 
of  my  life,  I  embrace  you  and  kiss  you. 
The  little  happiness  in  my  life  I  owe  all  to 
you.  I  kiss  you.  Yours  forever, 

IDA. 

Even  now,  so  many  years  after,  he  was 
touched  to  tears  by  that  last  letter  of  love. 
How  even  at  the  last  solemn  moment  all 
her  thoughts,  all  her  solicitude  was  for  him 
and  him  only ! 

His  first  impulse  was  to  run  to  her 
room.  But  as  he  went  into  the  street,  the 
newsboys  were  already  screaming  their 
extras.  "Beautiful  girl  commits  suicide." 
And  he  bought  the  paper  and  read  the 
harrowing  details.  And  he  thought  of 
the  unpleasantness  to  himself,  of  the  nasty 
insinuations  of  the  newspapers,  of  the 
painful  notoriety  that  would  result  to  his 
father  and  mother  and  sisters.  And  so 
172 


RICHARD  MARTINDALE 

he  refrained  from  going.  The  affair 
soon  blew  over.  He  received  a  letter  from 
his  father  telling  him  that  his  absence  was 
killing  his  mother  and  asking  him  to  come 
home.  He  returned  to  the  parental  roof. 
His  grief  was  respected  and  he  was  let 
alone. 

Years  passed.  Ida  became  a  vague  and 
cherished  memory.  He  met  Elaine  Stud- 
diford  on  one  of  his  European  trips.  A 
warm  friendship  followed,  and  he  asked 
to  be  permitted  to  call,  on  their  return  to 
the  United  States,  which  permission  was 
readily  granted.  In  three  months  he  pro 
posed  and  was  accepted.  He  loved 
Elaine,  tho  he  confessed  to  himself  that  it 
was  not  with  the  same  elemental  passion 
that  he  had  loved  Ida.  But  he  knew  that 
it  was  a  love  that  would  endure,  for  it  was 
based  on  genuine  affection  and  respect. 
She  was  not  a  silly  butterfly,  but  a  girl 
who  was  familiar  with  modern  advanced 
literature  and  did  a  good  deal  of  thinking 
173 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

on  her  own  account.  He  told  her  of  his 
affair  with  Ida,  tho  he  didn't  consider  it 
necessary  to  tell  her  all  the  details.  The 
story  caused  her  an  unpleasant  hour,  but 
she  got  over  it  quickly.  As  a  sensible  girl 
she  knew  that  very  few  young  men  that 
amount  to  anything  reach  Richard's  age 
without  having  had  some  love  affair.  He 
did  not  tell  her,  however,  of  the  infectious 
disease  that  he  had  had.  What  was  the 
use  bringing  up  such  disagreeable  details? 
It  was  a  mild  attack  and  he  was  cured 
long  ago. 

How  much  would  he  have  given  for  the 
advice  to  have  had  himself  subjected  to  a 
thoro  examination  at  the  hands  of  a  com 
petent  authority.  How  much  lifelong 
irremediable  suffering  he  would  have 
avoided,  he,  his  wife  and  his  only  child,  if 
he  had  done  that?  But  such  an  idea  did 
not  even  come  into  his  head.  The  family 
doctor  who  had  treated  him  told  him  he 
was  cured,  and  did  not  suggest  that  in 
174 


RICHARD  MARTINDALE 

years  to  come  before  entering  matrimony 
it  might  be  advisable  to  subject  himself  to 
an  examination. 

Both  Richard  and  Elaine  disliked  pom 
pous  notoriety  and  they  were  married 
quietly.  As  he  had  decided  to  devote  him 
self  to  literary  work,  they  took  a  house  in 
a  small  town  near  New  York,  and  there 
they  lived  happily  and  peacefully,  only 
coming  down  to  the  Metropolis  to  attend 
a  lecture,  a  dinner,  a  play,  or  to  get  some 
books.  A  year  later  Elaine  gave  birth  to 
a  child — a  bouncing  boy.  The  doctor  who 
attended  her  thought  that  the  child's  eyes 
looked  somewhat  red  and  puffy,  but  he 
paid  no  particular  attention  to  that,  only 
telling  the  nurse  to  wash  them  with  boric 
acid  solution.  The  condition  instead  of 
getting  better  was  getting  steadily  worse, 
and  very  soon  the  horrible  suspicion 
flashed  upon  the  doctor's  mind  that  he 
was  having  to  deal  with  a  case  of  ophthal 
mia  neonatorum  of  a  very  virulent  type. 
175 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

Specialists  were  hurried  from  New  York, 
one  with  several  nurses  stayed  there  day 
and  night,  and  tho  everything  known  to 
skill  and  science  was  done  to  save  the 
baby's  eyesight,  all  was  in  vain.  TKe 
child  became  totally  blind. 

This  was  a  cruel  blow  to  Richard  Mar- 
tindale,  the  cruelest  blow  fate  has  ever  yet 
dealt  him.  He  became  morose,  irritable, 
and  he  ached  at  the  cruelty  of  fate  and 
the  injustice  and  stupidity  of  the  world. 
Mrs.  Martindale  was  completely  pros 
trated.  Besides,  she  was  ailing  with  some 
internal  trouble,  which  kept  her  in  bed 
for  several  weeks.  The  specialists  ex 
plained  to  Richard  the  nature  of  his  wife's 
trouble,  which  was  also  the  cause  of  the 
boy's  blindness.  Mrs.  Martindale  and  he 
himself  were  treated  by  one  of  New 
York's  best  specialists,  until  they  could 
be  pronounced  radically  cured.  The  doc 
tor  said,  however,  that  while  Mrs.  Martin- 
dale  would  probably  never  have  any 
176 


RICHARD  MARTINDALE 

trouble,  he  feared  that  she  was  not  very 
likely  to  give  birth  to  any  more  children. 
They  were  very  anxious  to  have  at  least 
one  more  child,  and  Mrs.  Martindale  took 
every  treatment  that  had  in  it  the  slightest 
promise  of  success,  but  as  the  months  and 
then  the  years  passed  by,  the  doctor's  fear 
proved  well-founded.  Mrs.  Martindale 
was  another  victim  added  to  the  thousands 
and  thousands  of  victims  of  "one-child 
sterility."  And  so  he  will  have  to  go  thru 
life  with  poor  delicate  blind  Rostand, 
whose  mere  presence  is  a  constant  re 
proach,  whose  every  groping  step  is  a  stab 
in  his  heart. 

And  Richard  Martindale  thinks  it  all 
over.  He  wonders  if,  after  all,  there  is 
not  a  Nemesis  on  this  earth  even  for  peo 
ple  who  have  freed  themselves  from  reli 
gious  superstitions  and  theologic  dogmas; 
if  every  immoral,  unjust  or  anti-social  act 
does  not  carry  within  it  its  own  punish 
ment.  And  isn't  there  something  noble 
177 


STORIES  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 

in  the  idea  of  the  expiation  of  sin?  But, 
of  course,  expiation  of  sin  should  not  con 
sist  in  hermitic  seclusion,  in  self-castiga- 
tion,  which  is  of  no  use  to  anybody.  It 
should  consist  in  active,  efficient  social 
work,  work  which  should  help  dry  the 
tears  and  diminish  the  terrible,  terrible 
suffering  of  humanity.  For,  in  spite  of 
the  progress  we  have  made,  humanity's 
suffering  is  still  world-wide  and  ocean- 
deep.  This  at  least  he  is  doing.  For  the 
sins  he  has  committed  against  Ida,  against 
Rostand  and  against  beloved,  patient  non- 
murmuring  Elaine  he  is  trying  to  expiate 
to  the  best  of  his  ability.  He  is  devoting 
all  his  time  and  fortune  to  the  enlighten 
ment  of  the  people,  to  the  breaking  down 
of  social  barriers,  to  the  eradication  of 
cruel  superstitions  and  racial  hatred,  to 
the  amelioration  of  our  economic  condi 
tions.  He  is  giving  all  his  life  to  the 
bringing  about  of  a  better  and  saner  so 
cial  system,  where  there  will  be  less  hun- 
178 


RICHARD  MARTINDALE 

ger,  less  poverty,  less  weeping,  less  heart 
breaking,  less  suffering,  less  agony,  less 
hatred  and  less  disease.  To  this  work  he 
is  devoting  every  fiber  of  his  soul — and 
he  finds  in  Elaine  a  willing  helpmate — 
and  his  work  is  bearing  fruit. 

*     *     * 

And  the  god  of  the  sun  is  caressing  the 
earth  with  his  warm  rays.  And  the  Adri 
atic  Sea  stretching  boundlessly  beyond  the 
horizon  is  waving  invitations  to  all  living 
creatures  to  come  in  and  taste  the  de 
licious  coolness  of  her  waters.  And  the 
soft,  snowy-white  clouds  which  have  in  the 
meantime  appeared  from  somewhere, 
hurry  past  as  if  on  a  mission  bent,  and  dis 
appear  in  the  East. 

It  is  a  glorious  day. 


179 


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